


Somebody To Love

by SBlackmane



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Awkward Sexual Situations, Basically A Dragon Age Soap Opera, Bi-Curiosity, Dorian Pavus Is A Sex God, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everybody Sighs, Friends to Lovers, Inquisitor Being an Asshole, M/M, More Complicated Than A Dwarven Puzzle Box, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Poetry, Romanticism, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Varric Facepalms When He Reads This, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 138,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBlackmane/pseuds/SBlackmane
Summary: -Updated Weekly-Despite their hesitations in the beginning, Dorian and Cullen have become quite good friends. But when an unexpected turn of events puts both men in a precarious (and frankly rather awkward)  position, Cullen begins to question if his feelings are truly plutonic, or might be more, and Dorian questions whether or not to let Cullen into his guarded heart. Both men just want to be happy, and maybe both just need somebody to love.Could it be one another?





	1. Your Move, Commander

**Author's Note:**

> (I was heavily inspired by Queen when I wrote this, because I can't listen to Freddy and not think of Dorian. They're both fabulous!)
> 
> So I hit a bit of a block with my Lion, 9:41 Dragon series, thought I'd post this instead. I'm setting everything else aside for the time being, but I promise NONE of my works have been abandoned (yes, even the ones I haven't updated since like 2016) This is my first multiple POV fic, so this is kinda new for me. Oh and, while this may incorporate elements from both the Dorian and Cullen romances, this is not either, and is chuck full of non-canon elements. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> -SB

A smirk tugged at the Commander's lips as he read over the last several lines of his letter again, before folding the parchment neatly, then sealing it, to be handed to Josephine at her earliest convenience, then mailed to South Reach. Then he rose from his desk and reached for the wooden box containing a chess set. With chess board in tow, and a rare smile on his face, he left the confines of his office.

The weather was fair that afternoon, the sun was shining brightly above, and it matched his spirits that day. He'd been doing surprisingly well lately, having mostly good days, with only a few in between when his withdrawal was particularly bothersome. Today was one of those good days. He'd even so much as brought himself to respond to his sister's unanswered letter. And it was the perfect weather for his favorite pass time.

He was currently making his way to the library, in search of Dorian, as the mage had promised a rematch after their previous game. He'd been called back to work the last round, and had to abandon the game, which meant he forfeit, a thing of which he loathed. He strode past the elven apostate atop the scaffolding, who jumped when a book came sailing through the air and landed on the bottom floor, at Cullen's feet.

"Pavus!" Cullen barked, and again, Solas jumped, upsetting his brush.

Up above, on the second floor, Dorian snapped closed the book he sifted through, upon hearing Cullen's voice. A smug grin played at his lips, and he took his sweet time coming to the railing to peer down at the Commander, holding a chess board. Such an impatient man, Dorian took note of, but he had a lovely voice. Twas a pity he was straight as a board, for Dorian would love to hear that commanding tone he used with his recruits in the bedroom.

He certainly fantasized about it on occasion. He grinned mischievously at his impatient friend, who gestured to the box containing a chess set tucked under his arm. "Oh, was that today?" he asked, as if he'd forgotten. "I'll be down in a minute, Commander," he added in a bored tone, leaving the railing with a dismissive wave of a hand. No need to look too eager, after all, he was a man of sophistication, elegance, not a lovesick buffoon.

Well…not entirely.

He bookmarked his page, while downstairs, Cullen sighed exasperatingly.

"It won't kill you to wait," Dorian called.  
  
"I've been waiting!"

"And you made me wait last time!"

"I didn't do it on purpose, you know! Will you just get down here!"

"Tisk, tisk, Commander! You should learn better manners!"

"You know I only have so much time before I'll be needed elsewhere!" the Commander reminded. "I swear he does it on purpose," Cullen then mumbled, shaking his head. "You're insufferable, you know that?" he told Dorian when he finally made it to the bottom landing. "Maker only knows how I put up with you," he added.

Dorian smirked, saying, "Because you like how insufferable I am, and life would be incredibly boring without my presence."

Cullen snorted a little. True, it was never boring with Dorian around. One might never know what to expect when the mage was present. "Come on," Cullen urged, waving a gloved hand, taking his leave. "This game won't play itself." Dorian followed him out the door, and Solas shook his head at them both when their backs were turned, before relishing in the peace and quiet with them gone.

From Solas' perspective, it was a wonder that Dorian and Cullen could tolerate one another, when they seemed so opposite in nature. Dorian so posh, and Cullen so exceedingly punctual. From any outsider's perspective, it would seem more like they despised one another, judging by their banter. It was almost as bad as Varric and Cassandra with those two. One wouldn't think the two of them were even friends, but indeed they were. Quite good friends, actually.

There was a story behind it. As Varric so often liked to remind everyone, there was always a story. And the story of their friendship was an intriguing one, to say the last about it. It wasn't instantaneous, nor did it come naturally at first. In fact, it was rather awkward, and tense, as Cullen did seem to despise Dorian in the beginning. Everything from their first meeting onward screamed disaster waiting to strike.

They met when Dorian barged in on a war meeting at Haven, just as they were discussing the matter of Redcliffe, and dealing with the mages. Just walked in, as if he owned the place, and instantly Cullen reacted, slipping into a defensive stance, hand brushing the hilt of his sword. And the wariness didn't go away when he was introduced. 'This is the man I was telling you about', Lavellan had said. Alexius' former apprentice, also from the Imperium.

He didn't trust him, couldn't help but wonder if he was only playing at betraying Alexius the whole time. The only reason Cullen didn't draw his blade was because of Ellana Lavellan. And the likelihood that if Dorian truly had any ill will, surely he wouldn't offer so much information, nor any help on the matter. So Cullen relaxed his grip a little. But something about the way Dorian eyed him made Cullen nervous.

And he behaved too smugly, in the Commander's opinion. Had an answer for everything. Cullen watched his words in front of the man as they discussed in detail their plan to infiltrate Redcliffe Castle, but Lavellan seemed content to speak freely before him. She was reluctant as well, considering her people's history with Tevinter, but they needed his help. But though Cullen took his hand off the hilt of his sword, he didn't take his eyes off Dorian Pavus, not for a second.

His people practiced blood magic like it was child's play, and that fact alone made Cullen's own blood run cold in thought of it.

There was no love lost on Dorian's part either. He took one look at the dashing Commander and surmised that he was as pompous and self-righteous as he was handsome. No doubt he thought the sun shined out of the Inquisitor's bosom and graveled at her feet. At first, at least. But Dorian wasn't keen on working with the former Templar either, and assumed Cullen thought him no different than the Venatori themselves.

Neither man fully trusted the other. Though at the very least they had such in common.

It was better than nothing.

After Redcliffe, which was as confusing as it was unbelievable, Cullen still wasn't ready to put his trust in the mage, but Lavellan was, for the most part, and that was the only reason Cullen didn't put up any argument over Dorian joining the Inquisition.

Though he did find him to possess some redeemable qualities. Namely, that while he loved his homeland, Dorian would not stand for what this Venatori cult could–and might still try to–unleash upon the world.

Dorian more than proved to the Commander he was not what Cullen assumed he was.

In fact, there were many ways in which he differed from his people. But still, while they settled into somewhat of a truce, their friendship was slow to follow. They had so many differences on the surface. And both had their reasons to avoid one another whenever possible. But everything changed when Haven was overrun by Red Templars. In fact, that night may just as well have changed the course of history.

When the soon-to-be Inquisitor went out to distract the Elder One's dragon, and the bulk of the remaining enemy force, Maker only knowing if she would return, they and many others were left defending those who couldn't fight, as Chancellor Roderick led them to safety. While Lavellan drew a lot of attention, there were still stragglers, Templars that caught them by surprise as they were escaping.

Cullen was the last to leave, bound and determined to fight them off as long as he could until they were safely through the pass and a signal could be sent to Lavellan and her party. The Commander had taken down several already, but was outnumbered three to one still, when Dorian noticed he'd fallen behind and turned back. He took two more, but the third caught them off guard and rammed his sword through Cullen.

He blacked out, thinking that was the end of it right then and there. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious when suddenly there was a flash of light dancing before his eyes, and he felt magic. It was like he'd been underwater and could suddenly breathe when Dorian brought him back from death's embrace casting Revival. He cried out in pain, as he was still gravely injured, and would slowly bleed to death if Dorian didn't act quickly.

Ahead of them, at the far end of the pass, villagers were disappearing from view. Most had made it, and it was now or never. They couldn't wait any longer, they had to send up a flare, and so Dorian raised his staff to the sky to send up a flash of fire. The last Templar took off running, to where, Dorian hadn't a clue, but back the way they came, so he diverted his attention to the fallen Commander once more.

He gripped Cullen by the collar and hauled him to a sitting position, saying, "We've got to move. Now. You've got to get up."

"Just leave me," Cullen managed, but the mage would have none of it.

"Southerners," he muttered under his breath as he urged Cullen to his feet, one hand steadying him, the other pressed to his bleeding side, as a mass of fiery ammunition sailed overhead and straight into the mountain above them. They'd surely be buried, and as Dorian dragged a stumbling Commander, ice, snow, and debris from the avalanche flooded the ravine, catching their heels.

They just barely made it through as everything behind them was engulfed in snow.

Once safely beyond, Cullen dropped to his knees, unable to go any further, so Dorian rushed to patch him up, reaching to pry apart his armor so he could tend to his wound properly. Cullen was too exhausted to care what Dorian did. Too tired to care that a mage had used magic on him, much less acknowledge his current stance on the subject. Dorian forcing him to drink a potion barely registered, as stars danced across his eyes and his vision blurred.

He'd saved him. He could've left him there, and Cullen would've thought nothing of it, but there he was, alive still, not cut down by corrupt Templars, nor buried in snow.

He was alive because of Dorian Pavus.

He trusted the man after that. But that wasn't their defining moment. That was more or less the Commander being too weak to argue, much less fight him off, and Dorian being too stubborn for his own good, and putting the spirit magic Lavellan pushed him to learn to good use. Case in point, that was not their moment. The moment in question actually took place several days later.

By a miracle, Lavellan had survived, found her way back to them, and what remained of the Inquisition made camp, nestled somewhere deep in the Frostbacks, to wait and wonder where they would go next. There was nothing to go back to in the Valley of Sacred Ashes, and it seemed they'd have to find a new home, a new place to make their stand. If they would. It wasn't until Solas spoke up that they had any idea of where to go.

Dorian stood by while Ellana Lavellan banded the people together in that dark moment, listening to their little inspirational number, finding it surprisingly beautiful, and endearing. Though he loathed to admit how moved by it he'd actually been. He didn't exactly have any fondness for the Dalish "Herald of Andraste", but her bravery and selflessness made the people adore her. She certainly had a knack for drawing attention, in the mage's opinion.

Some time later, he found Cullen standing alone by a campfire, fighting the chill.

He'd made some coffee. It was terrible, for he'd had only a smidge of it left, barely enough for a single cup, let alone two, and was forced to melt snow to brew it. Maker only knew just what could be in that water, but it wasn't Red Lyrium, to his delight. He'd seen enough of that to last a lifetime. He'd watched Cullen pass on his rations to those less fortunate for the last few days, and he'd barely slept. He was so thoughtful and selfless it almost angered Dorian.

No one should be that perfect, really. But Cullen seemed to be, most days. One flaw. One flaw was all Dorian asked for. Was that so difficult for the Maker to manage when he sculpted the Commander into being? He strode right up to the soldier in question and held up a steaming cup of what could barely pass as drinkable, just as Cullen was bunching up at the sudden gust of wind.

"Here," he said to the Commander fighting a chill.

"Oh," Cullen started, surprised, when he noticed Dorian standing there, offering the cup. He almost reached to take it, but then declined. "Thank you, but...I'm fine, really. I'm sure someone else could use the comfort though."

"Maker's breath, are you _ever_ selfish?" Dorian could help but ask, with a bit of an eye roll. Then he sighed. "At the moment, you need it more than they, Commander."

Once more he held up the cup, and hesitantly Cullen took it, nodding in thanks.

"I...never thanked you," Cullen said after a time. "The other day, coming back for me, I…I'm grateful for that. I owe you my life."

"Don't be ridiculous," Dorian scoffed. "You owe me far more than that, but I'd say being stupidly brave and fending off those Templars more than makes up for your lack of common sense. Wouldn't you?"

Cullen snorted. "Still, thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

Cullen glanced at Dorian, amber eyes passing over him briefly, assessing his appearance. He was perfectly composed still, hardly a stain on his robes. He was always like that. Regardless of what was happening, Dorian managed to still look his absolute best. Magic. It was probably magic. "Maker's breath, Pavus, don't you ever get dirty?" he couldn't help but ask, and beside him Dorian smirked.

"Occasionally, yes, with a willing partner," he quipped. "Why? Did you want to volunteer your services? I can't say that I blame you. I'm visibly stunning."

As if it had been planned, he said that right when Cullen was taking a drink, causing him to spit hot liquid at the fire.

"Sweet Maker!" he coughed, clutching his chest for a moment, as some of it went down the wrong pipe, and he blushed heatedly, stumbling to speak. "That's uh...No! No I don't want to...Really didn't want to picture that either. Maker, I really shouldn't have asked."

Dorian giggled mischievously into his own cup.

"Yes, you really should've worded that better," he told him. "You are far too easy to fluster, Commander, especially when you set yourself up like that. You should be more careful."

Cullen coughed again. "I suppose so," he said. "Can I ask you something?" Dorian nodded, inwardly bracing himself for whatever impertinent question the man might have. "Why do you do that, exactly?"

"Why do I do what, exactly?" he countered, feigning innocence.

"Make people uncomfortable like that. Why?"

"Oh so my flirtations make you uncomfortable, do they? What a prude."

"I'm not a-" Cullen paused. Dorian was right. He _was_ a bit of a prude, honestly. "Not the flirting. Although it would be wasted on me. I'm not interested. I meant the…well, the way you speak to people. You're…incredibly patronizing. Why must you be so, every hour of the day?"

Dorian bit his lip, and considered that for a moment. Good question.

He sucked in a breath and said, "I'm a 'scary mage from Tevinter', Commander. Surely people will despise me no matter what I do."

Cullen glanced over at him. Judging by Dorian's face, that held no smile, nor any humor, he would guess that Dorian didn't like that fact. He didn't really know what to say to that. But Dorian continued, unfazed, speaking as if it were so trivial of a thing.

"No matter what I've done to stop Alexius' magic, nor assist Ellana in fighting demons or whatever nonsense, much less help defend Haven against this Elder One and his auspicious pet, people will still judge me, won't they? So why not simply give them a sound reason to, I suppose. It's more entertaining that way, at least until the shock and awe starts to wear off. Then–surprise!–out come the pitchforks and there goes the party."

Cullen bit back a remark. While he sounded almost bored as he spoke, Cullen could tell Dorian was seriously offended by how suspicious people were of him still. No matter what he said or did. The Commander had been one of those people, until recently. He felt ashamed. He didn't trust Dorian merely because of where he was from, and because he was a mage. Making the same mistake he made back in Kirkwall.

A mistake that caused him to overlook the terrible things happening around him there. A grave mistake born of his own ignorance, and his own past. He was taking it out on a man who had nothing to do with that either. It wasn't as if he'd used blood magic, much less did he fall in line with any other trope typically associated with the Imperium. "I'm...sorry about that," he mumbled aloud.

"And now he apologizes," Dorian rolled his eyes. "Really, Commander, must you bear the weight of the entire world on your shoulders? I thought that was Ellana's burden."

"Technically, it's everyone's burden. We're all in this together...I...don't mean to make it sound so dramatic, I just...You're part of that, you know. You've done a lot for us. People shouldn't be so quick to judge. I'll try not to do so."

"Then so will I," Dorian told him.

Then there was a moment of silence, before, "So do you, by any chance, like chess, Mister Pavus?"

"Why yes. Yes I do, actually."

"Care to play a game of mental chess to pass the time?"

"My dear Cullen, trying to have a conversation with you is a game of mental chess."

Cullen snorted. "I'll just take that as a compliment and leave it at that."

"Confident, are we? Your move, Commander."

That was their defining moment. The moment that Dorian would more or less become the Varric Tethras to his Seeker Pentaghast, in a sense. Just with less punching involved, of course. Regardless, that was the conversation that broke the ice, so to speak, and sparked future camaraderie between the two. The makings of a beautiful friendship were born in that moment, though some still suspected it was a disaster waiting to strike.

But as the Inquisition started anew at Skyhold, so did they, miraculously.

They were different, in many ways, but perhaps that's what drew them together. If they had everything in common, there would be nothing new to discuss. But they found many things to talk about when they had the time, once Cullen moved past any previous misgivings. They even found some things they did share in common. And both, for their own reasons, found excuses to 'endure' the other's company whenever they could.

In the present day, at Skyhold, Cullen and Dorian were on their way to the garden to further antagonize one another while having that rematch that was promised. "Could it be a coincidence that the Commander just so happens to catch a break from work right when the sun is shining and it's a beautiful day to play chess?" Dorian asked, settling in his seat, helping Cullen to set up the pieces. Cullen grinned.

"It is nice weather we're having, isn't it?" he said. He propped up the king on the board and gestured to it. "Your move."

Dorian examined the board for a moment before moving a piece. "Any of those pesky headaches today?"

"Surprisingly no, actually. Must be the weather."

"Hmm, the weather yes," Dorian purred. "Or does it have to do with the fact that a certain persistent little elf is not present to interrupt your work?"

Cullen sighed at that. Maybe that had something to do with it too. He adored Ellana, he really did, she was a remarkable woman. Fearless, headstrong, and a talented fighter...But she was young, barely twenty, and impressionable. Apparently Cullen made quite the impression on her, for not an hour after they met in the War Room at Haven was she accosting him in the training yard, relentless in her pursuit of him ever since.

She'd went so far as to inquire of a Templar's vows, asked if they took vows of chastity, then asked if Cullen made such vows. It wasn't the most illicit thing he'd ever heard, but it was hard to mistake the suggestion in her tone. It was bloody uncomfortable, they were strangers, and they were in the middle of a war. With a Breach hanging over their heads, and much more important things to worry about than whether or not Cullen was a virgin.

And Maker if it wasn't exhausting when she was at Skyhold. Ever since that day at Haven, she was at his heel, making her affections quite obvious, flirting with him every chance she got. Which was fine, but it was always when he was in the middle of something important that she did so. It didn't take long for Cullen to realize that Ellana Lavellan had very little life experience outside her clan, and even less experience with humans.

Climbing up into his loft to snoop around his things when they first arrived, and making comments about playing private matches in her quarters when they played chess. With Mother Giselle not ten feet away, he might add. She had no regards whatsoever to personal space, or boundaries, much less the sanctity of Cullen's office.

And she didn't even knock, half the time. She would just barge in, unannounced, and expect him to drop everything just to talk to her, usually about nothing at all. They had little in common. He was almost afraid to reject her, fearing she would take it personally somehow, and he really wasn't sure if he could handle a relationship at the moment. It just seemed too much. Like he was asking too much.

He cringed at the thought now, while Dorian smirked.

"No one's going to think you're evil because you reject an elf, Cullen," he said. "You are entitled to your own happiness, you know."

He groaned, smearing a hand across his face, then concentrating on the board. "It's not that," he mumbled, after making his move. "She's the Inquisitor, and we work closely together. It wouldn't be appropriate."

"Now you're just making excuses," Dorian chided, refusing to accept such a pitiful argument.

Cullen sighed again, and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it away from his face. "I have enough distractions as it is, Dorian. I don't really have the time for more. And besides, wouldn't you be jealous?" he teased. "The more time I spend with her, the less I spend with you."

"True, I do like having you all to myself," he agreed. "I'm not above being selfish, unlike you."

Cullen chuckled, leaning forward to make his move, following Dorian's.

Dorian had all kinds of comments to make on Cullen's awkward relationship with Ellana.

Since the beginning, it had become somewhat of an ongoing joke among the Herald's inner circle about how she pursued him, or, more accurately, how she hounded him relentlessly like a fennec digging nugs out of their burrow, and Cullen hadn't the heart to brush her off. Personally, Dorian found it entertaining, and utterly adorable, making the Commander blush and stammer when he teased, but at least he knew when to back off. Ellana didn't.

He was about to remark on the subject, when they were interrupted by the Ambassador. Thankfully not by Ellana Lavellan. But by Josephine, who glided to them, saying, "Ah, a stroke of luck that I should find you both. Just the two gentlemen I've been looking for. If you would come with me please. The Inquisitor has returned, and both of you are needed in the War Room, presently."

Cullen and Dorian shared a glance. First of all, it was odd for Dorian to be requested to attend a meeting in the War Room. Second, the very woman they spoke of had returned.

Neither were looking forward to it.

But little did they know how this meeting would markedly alter the course of their friendship, and possibly their lives.

Certainly their chess match, as the pieces were abandoned in favor of following Josephine into the Castle.

Both men, competitive as they were, grumbled in their heads about having to leave yet another game unfinished, as they made their way inside.


	2. And In Walks Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait a full 24 hrs to post the second chapter, I'm just so excited about this fic! I hope you guys enjoy it too.
> 
> Also, the Comte and Comtesse de Val Chevin-as well as events depicted-are totally non-canon.

Ellana Lavellan stood in the War Room already, partaking in what appeared to be very intense conversation with the Spymaster when they arrived.

She'd only just returned from abroad when Lady Josephine and Sister Leliana sort of sprung this on her, and wasn't expecting this turn of events. Surprise was written all over her face, as plainly as the delicate lines of Vallaslin to be found there. She brushed a stray hair from her cheek, and situated her collar properly, as they entered, led by the Ambassador, both men looking like cornered animals.

Vivid blue eyes met their gazes, resting briefly on Dorian's form, before settling on the Commander, a spark of something within them that was hard to dismiss, but Dorian blatantly ignored. Too often had he schooled himself on being jealous of the Inquisitor. Though he didn't have a shot in the dark with Cullen, he knew the woman's affections weren't returned, and it gave him some small level of smug satisfaction.

Plus, there were many things about the woman to focus his anger on, that had nothing to do with jealousy.

He made his expression that of mild amusement, and settled next to the table, arms folded.

Cullen on the other hand was disturbed, by all the women in the room, and the request that Dorian be present as well. And when Cassandra Pentaghast arrived seconds later, also having been summoned, the Commander was certain there would be grave news of some kind delivered. "So, pardon my curiosity, but what, exactly, were we summoned for?" Dorian asked, breaking the strained silence.

"I find myself wondering the same thing," Cassandra added beside him. She looked to Leliana and Josephine for an explanation. It was the Inquisitor that answered, however.

"Leliana tells me her agents uncovered some sort of plot against the Inquisition," she told them. Dorian chuckled.

"That's yesterday's news, pet," he said, and Leliana snorted. Cassandra did not find this funny though, and neither did Josephine. Unlike Dorian, Cullen worked with the women long enough to know what those facial expressions meant.

"Just what is this plot, and why am I just now hearing of it?" Cullen asked. Leliana sighed.

"It was of no consequence until now," she told him. "My agents have been investigating this for weeks, and only just now did it become a concern." Leliana stepped over to the table and leaned against it. "They intercepted a courier with a message from the Comte de Val Chevin to be delivered to the Grand Duke. He spoke of possessing incriminating information, in the form of a letter, pertaining to the upcoming peace talks and the Inquisition itself."

"We believed the information he possessed was a smoke screen," Josephine explained. "So the matter was handled accordingly. However, this morning, we received an invitation to the Comte's estate, to discuss an alliance."

"What, so you think this is some sort of trap?" Cullen guessed, and Josephine nodded.

"His letter was too perfectly timed to be a coincidence," Josephine told them. "It is likely he means to extort the Inquisition, under the guise of funding our cause. He could also be seeking to elevate himself, and intends to use the Inquisition's influence to his advantage. And if we do not agree to whatever his demands, he will deliver this alleged letter to whomever might use it against us."

"It's quite possible he no longer possesses the letter," Leliana said. "Or that it doesn't exist. But a means of infiltrating his estate has become too difficult. And the Comte has too few allies to act so boldly without a means of securing his success. So we cannot be certain. It's too much of a risk. We thought to attend this gathering of his and use the affair to search the estate for any evidence he might have. Destroy it, and wash our hands of the Comte."

"Hard to believe one single letter could upend us," Ellana scoffed.

Being Dalish and having so few experiences with human politics made her very much the skeptic when it came to how the Orlesians played the Game.

"That would all depend on what that letter entails," Leliana remarked. "It could be personal ties, members of our families that will be the target of an assassination attempt."

"Or it could relate to the plot to assassinate the Empress," added the Ambassador. "If he is somehow aware that we are investigating such a claim, he could expose our scheme and stifle any chances of success. But in his correspondence with Gaspard, he boasts of having a document signed and sealed by Her Majesty, Empress Celene. If it is legitimate, it could be disastrous."

"How would he obtain such a letter, if he's merely a Comte?" Dorian asked.

"His wife often attends masquerades with members of the Court," Josephine explained. "And just last week she was seen at the Grand Royeaux Theatre, in attendance with some of Empress Celene's supporters. No doubt she was the one to obtain the letter, and now the Comte uses it as leverage. She will be at the party as well. If his wife was involved, we will need to keep a careful watch on her throughout the evening."

"I'm not really following here," Ellana cut in. "Who is trying to blackmail who exactly? And who's side is this Comte even on? The Empress's, Gaspard's, who?"

"His own, most likely," said Leliana. "He may not even be truly aware of what he has stumbled upon, only its value in the right hands. His only interest seems to be power, of some measure, and right now, the Inquisition is that power. No doubt if he is unsuccessful at extorting us, he will turn to the next highest bidder to sell the information."

"So what does this have to do with myself and Dorian?" Cassandra then asked.

"Everyone in this room was mentioned in his correspondence with the Duke," Leliana told her. "We were all mentioned by name. And every one of us were invited, personally, to the Comte's estate."

This got everyone's attention, when Leliana said it, and brows raised. Inviting members of the Inquisition personally? Not just the Inquisitor, nor only the most renowned among them. But individually, by name, her most trusted advisors, the Right Hand of the Divine, and the son of a Magister of the Imperium. All important figures, all crucial to the Inquisition's successes thus far. "Why was Madame De Fer not invited?" Dorian asked.

"It is most likely due to her value as Court Enchantress," Josephine replied. "Lady Vivienne is well versed in Orlesian politics, and would prove most useful to us."

"Or she's involved?" Ellana guessed, but Josephine shook her head at the accusation.

"Vivienne would be invited to the event were she involved, and she is too smart to risk her alliance with us. As well as too powerful for the Comte to contend with. Either that, or she was never mentioned in the Empress's letter, and so therefore has no part to play in the Comte's little scheme."

"As well as she would have discovered him soon enough," Leliana added. "In any case, his neglect to mention her is what tipped us off. Were she invited as well, I would believe it a sincere attempt to align himself with us by gaining our favor and support. As is not the case, it seems. Whatever the Comte's angle, he's played it carelessly. It should not be too difficult to distract him enough to investigate his home."

"We play the part," continued Josephine, "Regale the Comte and his family with tales of the Inquisition's expeditions, humor his attempt to negotiate an alliance, and it should suffice. But not tipping his wife to our scheme may prove more difficult. She is much more experienced in the Game, and far better connected, than her husband. No matter what, we must not let her become aware of our investigation."

"I have a few ideas of how to keep her distracted," Leliana informed. "If timed correctly, they should work."

"So when do we leave?" Ellana asked.

"In a few days," Josephine informed. "I will arrange for proper attire to be fashioned for the Comte's event. I had planned on a visit to Val Royeaux, actually."

"Oh, new dresses, goody," Ellana then quipped with an eye roll, as she could only imagine what sort of frilly monstrosity the Ambassador would cook up for her. She was hardly looking forward to it. And the mere mention of a dress was enough to set the Seeker on edge. Dorian inwardly scoffed at the idea of mewling Orlesians with their atrocious fashion and gaudy perfume. And Cullen felt like he was going to be sick.

This was sure to be a disaster, he was convinced.

They all had a part to play. Leliana was famed for her association with the Warden-Commander that ended the Fifth Blight, and her personal ties to King Alistair. Cassandra was dubbed the Hero of Orlais and widely known for her work as the Divine's Right Hand. Even Cullen's reputation had been rapidly growing since working with the Inquisition. Ellana would need no introduction as Inquisitor, and Dorian could be spotted miles away.

They planned to leave with a small escort, a handful of men, as to not draw too much attention to themselves on the Imperial Highway, and arranged to stay the night in Val Royeaux before arriving in Val Chevin the following evening, the night of the party. They'd stay only the night, at the Comte's villa, as honored guests, then depart early on 'urgent business', before they raised any suspicion.

It was easier for a man like Cullen to plan a hostile takeover than deal with this. Had Leliana told him to infiltrate the villa and hold everyone hostage, he might've known what to do with himself. Had she said there were a handful of apostates hiding inside, he might've known what to do. Had the estate been a fortress full of Red Templars, he could handle it. But for a man like Cullen Rutherford, sitting, drinking, and making small talk with masked figures?

He'd rather be stabbed, doused in oil, lit on fire, stepped on, and then strung up by his boot laces, to be honest.

Ellana fared little better than he. The few times she'd been to Val Royeaux, she did not enjoy the experience. Josephine tried to make up for it by taking her shopping, but it hardly improved her mood. If anything, it only made the simple Dalish girl even more irritated to be paraded around the city and made the display of, but she would never admit it to Josephine. She only smiled at how hard the woman tried to dote on her like a sister.

Leliana was probably the most excited, however. Relishing in a break from reports, and the lure of political intrigue for the time, though she hid it well underneath her calm. But inside she was brimming at the chance to dress elegantly for a change, and partake in the familiar Game. She resolved to even go so far as to steal a dance with someone if able, but certainly spent far longer than anyone else picking out shoes.

Cassandra doubly hated the experience. Much like Cullen, she felt so out of place, milling about the city with Ellana, Leliana, and Josephine. And to make matters worse, they planned to fit her into a dress for the party. She was ready to strangle the Ambassador and their Spymaster both when this was over. She felt foolish being fitted into so many gowns and loudly vocalized her frustration.

The shop owner was almost in tears before it was settled that Cassandra would wear a simpler Fereldan style piece, black with silver accents to compliment her status as a Seeker and her Nevarran background. Less frills and lace for her to get lost in, and more lines to accent her figure. Josephine leaned heavily on her favored color and left the shop with a beautiful golden frock, Leliana with something lacy.

Ellana loved trying on all the outfits though, as much as she might've seemed otherwise dismal. She'd never played dress up like this and felt like a little girl waltzing around in so many layers. She ended up purchasing something green and flowery that rather gave a nod to her Dalish roots, light and breathable silk cinched tightly at the waist. But the Void hath no fury like a Commander being treated like a pincushion.

He insisted on wearing his armor, but as this was not a combat situation, merely a dinner party, he was forbidden. So he stood rigidly in the shop across the street while some strange man in a mask put his hands all over him to take his measurements, while Dorian stood nearby, plastered with a grin. He found Cullen's displeasure in the whole thing just so entirely Ferelden of him, honestly.

"Cheer up, Commander," he purred. "There are worse places to be, you know."

"I'd rather be knee deep in sand in the Western Approach," he scoffed, then jerked when the tailor almost touched his groin. "Is all this really necessary?" he asked. The tailor sighed.

"We must have a _precise_ measurement, monsieur," he replied.

"Yes, yes, very _precise_ ," Dorian remarked while he stared at the Commander's backside sans armor to cover it, as he wore only his pants and a light tunic at the moment. "As they say, measure twice, cut once."

Cullen shifted uncomfortably. "You're enjoying my misery, aren't you?" he groused, to which Dorian chuckled. Oh, he was enjoying _something_ alright, but it had nothing to do with his friend's misery, no. He cleared his throat and looked away when Cullen turned around and might catch him in the act. He pretended to look around the room and explore its contents with his eyes. A final inappropriate touch by the tailor had Cullen reeling.

"Alright I think that's quite enough," he said, stepping off the pedestal. "Your turn," he said to Dorian who sashayed nonchalantly up to the dais. Having no issues whatsoever with being groped. As he was turned about, measured, and felt up appropriately, Cassandra was entering the shop, though the others had yet to arrive. But clearly the Seeker was fed up already, and needed a break from it all.

"The others are still shopping," she declared, disgust in her tone, folding her arms. "I can only hope this trip is over with soon," she said. "The Inquisition has much more important matters to attend to than this."

"I completely agree," Cullen told her. "Our efforts are much better spent on dealing with the war. A much better use of our money."

The tailor made no comment on any of this, but he was listening, of course. Who wouldn't be, when members of the famed Inquisition were in their shop, discussing matters? Anything and everything said or did in Val Royeaux was weighed and measured carefully for anything of value to be used as blackmail or leverage of some kind. So of course the tailor was listening while they chatted.

Dorian himself had no comment on this whole affair. Truthfully, from the start, he'd had a bad feeling about it. Never before was he ever spoken of, or mentioned at all really, when the Inquisition was discussed. It was like the organization's dirty secret to be kept, that they aligned themselves with a Tevinter mage. No one ever regarded him as a _prestigious_ figure among them, so why now?

Why now was he being threatened with blackmail? Why now was he even involved? Did his family have something to do with it? His father perhaps? He couldn't help but wonder if they weren't connected to this somehow, and this didn't have anything to do with Alexius' plot in Redcliffe at all. But no matter, better to not worry about it at the moment, when there was little he could do. Best to simply enjoy the lovely summer evening while it lasted.

Cullen had to admit he was curious too, as to just why exactly the mage was involved in all this. He could understand his own involvement, and that of the other advisers, but Dorian didn't fit. Unless the Comte would somehow use his Tevinter ties against them. Who was to say, and none of them could guess until they knew precisely what the Comte's letter even said about them.

When Josephine was thoroughly satisfied with their selected attire for the party the following evening, they were released from captivity and allowed to wander around Val Royeaux of their own accord for the rest of the afternoon. It was decided that in case of any attempts made on one of them, they would not venture alone, and Leliana's agents were also in various unseen places, at all times. The Spymaster was thorough.

Ellana paired with Cassandra, dragging the Seeker off to a book shop she found when window shopping, Leliana took Josephine with her to speak to one of her contacts, leaving Cullen and Dorian to mingle about the market of their own accord. It was an outrageously hot day, and neither man was in particularly good spirits because of it, though Dorian hid his frustration well behind a bemusing grin.

Cullen, however, did not, and he had a headache. It didn't take long for his friend to notice. "It's just the heat," he lied, when Dorian asked. But it wasn't that much of a stretch from the truth, really. Unbearable heat seemed to worsen his symptoms, and on days like today, it was insufferable. Dorian made no comment about the heat, and instead stopped mid step, and tapped Cullen's shoulder.

"Oh look, an apothecary," he chirped. "Let's see what's inside."

He gave the Commander little choice but to follow when Dorian immediately took off, waltzing into the shop and looking around as if he were merely browsing. But Dorian knew exactly what he wanted, and purchased potions and ingredients, storing them in his satchel for later use. "What was all that about?" Cullen asked when they left the shop, and Dorian turned to fit something into his gloved hand.

"For your headache," he declared, and Cullen looked down at the potion bottle, chuckling.

"Thank you," he said, but Dorian waved him off.

"What would I be if not attentive to our very important Commander's needs?" he asked. "And I very much like the idea of you owing me favors," he added. "I might collect on them one day."

Cullen rolled his eyes. "There's always a catch with you, Pavus," he said, but it was meant good naturedly, and Dorian smirked at the comment. Truth be told, Dorian would never ask Cullen for anything in return for his generosity, but it was still fun to tease about it.

Eventually they found themselves in some sort of novelty shop, Cullen feeling a bit better after taking the potion Dorian gave him, but the stress of events was still wearing on him. He felt so out of place amid all this pomp and fuss of Orlais. He didn't know how people like Josephine and Leliana could stand it. And he couldn't seem to shake this feeling that something terrible was about to happen, but perhaps it was just his imagination.

Dorian, on the other hand, was only mildly disturbed. Aside from his concerns with being blackmailed by petty Orlesian nobility seeking power, this was hardly a bother to him. But he worried for his friend. Cullen was of a modest background, and had spent most of his life as a Templar. He wasn't accustomed to all this like Dorian was. And with the headaches, and all the stress, surely Cullen was on the verge of losing it.

Either that or the man was constantly looking over his shoulder, hoping to avoid being cornered by the Inquisitor. It really was awful just how paranoid Cullen seemed to be about being caught alone by Ellana. Dorian half wondered if Cullen had never actually been with a woman, and was perhaps terrified of them. He was certainly terrified of Ellana. Of that there was little doubt.

But it wasn't like he didn't have sound reason to be terrified of her. She could open rifts with a twitch of her fingers, and who wouldn't be put off by that? It would've been comical, if Dorian wasn't genuinely concerned for his friend's health. He would bet his life that it was Ellana Lavellan that gave their Commander all those pesky headaches. The woman was going to drive Cullen into an early grave, at this rate.

Once more, Dorian had to scold himself, and shake the thought of being jealous of Ellana's attentions toward Cullen. But sometimes it was impossible. His only consolation was that just being friends with Cullen did have its benefits. It removed the complications of a relationship from the picture. He was guaranteed to never have his heart broken, if what was between them was only friendship. He was content with that.

But that didn't stop him from fantasizing that night in the privacy of his room, as really that was all that was missing in his life. Physical intimacy with someone. He could lie to himself all he liked, but at the end of the day, as he settled into his bed with a glass of wine and a good book to wind down, he'd notice the hollow space next to him in his bed. It was too glaringly obvious to not notice.

He'd spent most of his life filling that hollow space in his heart with anything and everything he could, and he was tired of it. Sure, he could invite any number of men into his bed and have a good time, for that time, but it wouldn't be enough. It had never been enough for him. For years he'd resigned to empty meaningless sex because he knew better than to think it could be more. But on nights like tonight, he actually yearned for more.

Was it too much to ask for to simply be held? With no pulling of strings, no game to play, no other purpose than to be loved? Sometimes it seemed that way. Eventually he set his book aside and curled into his pillow, dreaming of such things, though they pained him so.

The Commander, on the other hand, couldn't sleep. Once the potion Dorian gave him wore off, his headache came back in full force, tremors wracking his body, causing him to ball his hands into fists, gripping the sheets tightly. He asked himself many times why he endured this, and the truth of it wasn't only that he wanted to be better, wanted to remove himself from his former life as a Templar, but simply because...well, because he deserved it.

He knew he did. He knew he deserved the pain caused by his withdrawals, as penance for all he'd done and allowed to happen. He would endure it, if only for that reason. He'd resist if at all possible simply to endure this pain, though it wracked him. Sweat poured down his face, soaking the sheets, but he couldn't bring himself to move, to get up, to drink some water or open a window for fresh air. All he could do was grip the sheets.

A knock on his bedroom door brought him back to focus, however, and he dreaded the voice he heard. Ellana knew of his withdrawal, he'd confessed to her his decision to stop taking Lyrium not long after they arrived at Skyhold. Once she was named Inquisitor, he felt he had no choice but to disclose the information, though he loathed to do so. But Ellana's presence in his room would only pain him, he knew that.

Maker, he wished it was Cassandra or Dorian knocking on his door. Cassandra knew of his plight, and though Dorian had yet to know, still, his presence would serve to distract him.

"Cullen?" Ellana called again. "Are you still awake?"

He stifled any response by pressing his hand to his mouth, teeth clenching the space between his thumb and forefinger, heart pounding in his chest. No, the last thing he needed right now was for the Inquisitor to see him in such a state. She might push for him to keep taking Lyrium. He knew it was on the tip of her tongue the first time he mentioned it to her. Standing in his office, he could see she was not thrilled by the idea.

She meant well, she truly did, but honest to the Maker, Cullen would rather suffer.

He relaxed against the cold pillow when he heard Ellana's footsteps recede, leaving him alone, wandering back to her room. Then he closed his eyes and prayed.


	3. Life Of The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens...

Though not as vast, nor elegant as Val Royeaux, Val Chevin was still an impressive city of its own, and the Comte's villa on the outskirts of town rather reminded Ellana and Cassandra of the one belonging to Duke Bastien de Ghilain. When they entered the foyer, and their arrival had been announced, both women half expected Lady Vivienne to descend the steps leading into the ballroom like she did when they met.

But there was no click-clacking of heels, nor was there a prickling Free Marches proper to be heard over the sound of the harpsichord playing. Only the low rumble of Orlesian chatter coming to a halt at the sound of the herald that announced them at the top of the steps. Ellana had insisted on Cullen escorting her, and Josephine saw no reason to object to the Commander taking her arm for the evening.

She thought they looked rather adoring together. Cullen's form fitting embroidered vest complimented her ensemble nicely, and behind them the Ambassador paired with a very dashing Tevinter Altus dressed entirely in black. It was for a purpose that Dorian chose such imposing fabric for the party, and absolutely intended on making people feel uncomfortable descending the steps with his intimidating wardrobe, next to a gilded Josephine.

The gaudier the display, the bigger the distraction, the better the success rate.

Behind them, two of Leliana's agents posed as escorts for the affair, one of them taking the Spymaster by the arm, and the other leading a rather reluctant Seeker. But whatever he said in her ear, though Josephine didn't catch it, certainly made Cassandra blush and put a smile on her face. Her change from ferocious warrior to Nevarran Princess that evening was truly remarkable, and though the Seeker would deny it, she looked rather beautiful.

They all looked lovely, and waiting for them in the ballroom was the Comte, his wife, and eldest children, easily recognized by their matching masks, displayed as the family's heraldry.

The Comte, who was of middle age, and hardly a dashing young Chevalier, stood as regally as he could muster, considering how portly he was. Next to him, his wife, also of middle age and already sporting a few grays in her fiery wisps, made a lavish curtsy, and was not shy about showing off her one remaining useful asset, her busty chest. Though it was concealed just so under layers of lace, but only barely.

Josephine had heard every juicy detail her friend and confidante would spill about the Comte de Val Chevin, when she and the Spymaster first discussed this affair in the privacy of the War Room. While the man had little political dirt under his nails, he had plenty of sordid affairs behind closed doors. One of which actually led to his ghastly marriage to the Comtesse de Val Chevin that earned him his title.

The woman was exceedingly graceless, so was the rumor, and held little morals beyond only fostering children by her husband, and no other man. But in every other way, the Comtesse was a complete harlot, and used her promiscuity to secure many followers and favors from members of the Imperial Court over the years. Her husband was a dole, but he was an envious dole, and thirst for his wife's connections and fortune.

So he let her do whatever she wished. As long as it got him whatever he wanted. Such as theirs was a marriage only on paper, but by no other means was it legitimate, in the Ambassador's opinion. As she curtsied alongside a bowing Dorian, she surmised in her head that if this were Antiva, and her own family, the woman would be disowned for her behavior, possibly stripped of her fortune as well.

While the Montilyets always delighted in political intrigue, the merchant family prided morals, and the sanctity of marriage. Vows taken were sacred, and promises made were kept. But alas, this was Orlais, and not Antiva. Certainly not the Montilyet family estate. But it was nothing so strange for the woman that had personally contended with dignitaries in the Imperial Court, and served the Empress directly as Ambassador to Antiva.

"Welcome, Inquisition, to my humble abode," the Comte greeted the pairs, thick accent marking every syllable. "I hope your journey was not too taxing?" he asked them, and Ellana handled the response fairly well in the Ambassador's opinion.

"Orlais has very beautiful countryside," she said, the vague response leaving the Comte to nod in agreement, then extend his arm, hoping to steal the Inquisitor away from the Commander. In exchange, the Comte's wife was all too eager to take Cullen's arm as the pair lead them through the ballroom, past all the mingling guests. "Your estate is very beautiful as well," Josephine heard Ellana comment.

"Why thank you, my dear," he purred like a cat.

Cullen tried to resist the urge to tug uncomfortably at his collar while the masked redhead clutched his forearm, almost possessively, a sickly sweet smile plastered on her lips. With her other hand she was petting him, stroking his arm in a familiar fashion, while her husband was distracted by the Inquisitor. The Comte led them through the hall and into his parlor, inviting them all to sit and rest, lounge while his servants poured them wine.

He offered the Inquisitor his chair while he stood nearby, and his wife seated herself right beside Cullen on a couch across from them. "So handsome," she murmured, and he arched a brow. To his left were Leliana and Cassandra, being seated in cushioned high-backed chairs while their 'escorts' waited on them, and to his right were Dorian and Josephine, the mage successfully pretending to fawn over the Ambassador like a lover.

"I imagine my invitation comes to somewhat of a surprise to the Inquisition," the Comte told them, as he was handed a wine glass. "We have not had the opportunity to acquaint ourselves with one another in the past, to our misfortune."

"To our _great_ misfortune," his wife bemoaned beside Cullen, still stroking his arm. He cleared his throat. Was the Comte not even bothered by his wife's interest in the younger man? The Commander couldn't tell, but he was very put off by it. This was awfully strange to him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dorian stealing a glance his way, and narrowing his eyes at the woman.

"It came as a delightful surprise," Josephine told the Comte. "The Inquisition is always seeking new allies, new opportunities. Such an event comes as a refreshing welcome during such dark times."

"I am relieved," said the Comte. "Indeed these are dark times. With mages from Tevinter," he purposefully stole a glance at Dorian as he spoke, "Threatening an already war torn country, it is our hope to rely on the Inquisition for peaceful resolutions, and justice for such crimes. Since Orlais clearly cannot rely on its own government for such things. We are all forced to make allies where we can, are we not?"

Leliana, who heard the underlying insult toward Empress Celene, and her inability to quell the Venatori in Orlais, or put a stop to the Red Templars, what with a civil war being fought all along the countryside, stifled a groan.

She upheld her mask of calm calculation as her wineglass hovered just inches from her lips, though she didn't drink. With the upcoming peace talks in Hilamshiral, no doubt the Comte was grasping at straws, hoping to profit from the war before it ended. "We hope to seize every opportunity for peace, Your Lordship," said Josephine, and the Comte nodded to this, as if he agreed.

"Well, I must now attend to my other guests," he lamented, holding out his arm to the Comtesse, who pouted a little at being torn from Cullen's side. "Come my pet, let us mingle." He turned to Ellana, as he linked his wife's arm in his. "I have arranged everything for your comfort and enjoyment this evening, Inquisition. Please, I do hope you make yourselves at home. Auvoir, for the moment."

The Comte and his wife left the parlor, and so did the attendees, off to serve other guests in the main hall. For a moment, and only a moment, the more strained individuals let out the breath they'd been holding, and Leliana's agents went to close the door. A moment was all they had before they would be missed at the party. "I have no doubt in my mind the Comte possesses the letter still," Leliana told them.

"How can you be sure?" Ellana asked her.

"His invitation to 'make ourselves at home'? As if he has nothing to hide? He's daring us to look, and we will find it, but not without a proper distraction first." Leliana rose from her seat, picking up her skirt, making her way over to the two gentlemen keeping watch at the door for them, and whispered. They nodded at her instruction. She turned back to Cassandra. "Let's dance, shall we?" she asked.

"Oh, no, don't make me do this," the Seeker groaned. "I don't dance, Leliana. And I'm certainly not going to do so with all those people watching."

"If it makes you feel any better," said Cullen, "I think I'm about to be sick at the thought."

"You two are ridiculous," Dorian scoffed.

"Must the both of you treat this whole affair like you are being tortured?" Josephine asked them.

"Look at Cullen's face!" Cassandra barked. "He _is_ being tortured."

"I guarantee it was the Comtesse's perfume that has him sick," Dorian said, rising to stand, leaving Josephine's side to approach his friend when he saw how green his face turned. He tisked. "I couldn't help but notice how she was practically in his lap the whole conversation." He felt the Commander's forehead with the back of his hand, and it barely registered to Cullen at first that someone was touching him.

"Yes, the Comtesse does seem to have an interest in the Commander, doesn't she?" Ellana asked, hardly amused by it, and frankly quite jealous at how the woman touched his arm so frequently. But judging by the spark in Leliana's eyes, the look that meant she got a grand idea, the Spymaster found this information useful to them. "Oh Creators," Ellana hung her head. "I know that look."

Leliana pursed her lips a little at the remark, but turned to Cullen and said, "I think you will best serve as the distraction, Commander," she told him, making him look up at her, worry filling his amber eyes. "The Comtesse's interest in you will give my agents the time they need to investigate the Comte's private quarters upstairs without her knowledge. If you can get her alone with you, even better."

"No," he shook his head. "Absolutely not! You are not leaving me alone with that woman!"

"We might not have a choice," said Josephine. "But we must get back to the party soon, or we will be missed."

"Come," Leliana waved to everyone, and the agent that escorted Cassandra helped her to her feet, taking her arm in his. They were the first to leave the parlor, Cassandra almost shaking in her nervousness with so many people watching her as they entered the ballroom. Next to leave the parlor were Leliana and her escort who immediately crossed the dance floor and joined in with the other dancers as the next song began to play.

Ellana, both elated to be touching Cullen again, and angered by the Comte's wife, all at once, felt jittery as she practically dragged Cullen out the door.

Dorian shook his head at them, and shared a glance with Josephine. The Ambassador rolled her eyes at the elf. "Someone really must tell that girl how obvious she is," Dorian murmured, to which Josephine snorted.

"My dear Messere Pavus," she purred in his ear. "It would be of no use. The Inquisitor is both obvious _and_ oblivious, I'm afraid."

Dorian chuckled, patting Josephine's hand on his arm as they entered the ballroom.

Across the floor Cassandra could be seen sharing a dance with her partner. Whatever the man was whispering to her had her blushing and smiling, doing well to hide her nervousness. To their left, Leliana also danced, though unlike the stiff Seeker, arbitrarily dolling out the movement, the Spymaster floated across the floor as the very embodiment of grace, delighting onlookers as she passed.

From the sidelines, next to Cullen, Ellana watched as Dorian pulled Josephine into a dance, who laughed airily at something coy he must've said before their bodies connected. Ellana rolled her eyes at how Dorian swept the Ambassador off her feet. If only the Antivan knew that Dorian didn't have the slightest interest in women, and it was all an act. Or, at least, Ellana assumed it was.

She sighed and glanced at Cullen. He'd yet to ask her to dance.

"Will you please dance with me, Commander?" she demanded of him, startling him out of thought.

"Hmm? What? Oh, I uh," He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd...rather not," he told her. "It's uh, not a dance I'm familiar with and I think I'm starting to get another headache."

"Oh no," she said, suddenly concerned. "Why didn't you mention it sooner? I might've been able to help."

"It's quite alright, Inquisitor," he assured. "I should be fine, but I'm afraid I won't be much of a dance partner. Perhaps you could borrow Dorian?" He gestured to where Dorian twirled Josephine around. "He seems to be a...well, a terrific dancer, actually."

Ellana slumped her shoulders in disappointment. Getting Cullen to dance with her was going to be impossible, and once he started distracting the Comtesse, she'd get no time to steal away with him whatsoever. She looked to see that someone cut in between Cassandra and her partner, asking her to dance, and she nodded before curtsying a little and starting across the floor. Her partner seized the opportunity to slip away unnoticed from the room.

Next was Leliana, as yet another approached her, none other than the Comte, finding her skills on the dancer floor both insatiable and intriguing, and so he asked her to dance. So she dismissed the agent that previously twirled her about, giving him his exit. He went completely unnoticed as he slipped into the crowd, and disappeared from view. All eyes were on the dance floor, as the members of the Inquisition charmed their audience.

So far everything was going according to plan. Their agents were falling into place. Now all that was left to do was occupy the Comte and his family at dinner, and keep up the appearance of discussing an alliance, while they searched the estate. When the song ended, the onlookers clapped, as well as the dancers applauded the musicians. As he was clapping, the Comte's eyes found the Inquisitor in the crowd, to her utter dread.

Ellana found the man disgusting, but managed to fake a smile when he approached and asked her to dance, leaving Cullen to watch from the crowd, and Leliana to slip away from the party for a moment.

Across the floor, the Comtesse was conversing with another guest, but her gaze was focused solely on Cullen. Even through the mask he could feel the woman's eyes on him.

Cullen was nervous. He didn't like the idea of playing bait for a married woman one single bit. In fact, he'd rather be infected by Red Lyrium than go through this torture. It was immoral, and it was humiliating. And Dorian was right, her perfume smelled awful. It was so strong he could still taste it on his tongue, like it had been sprayed in his face, and it clung to his clothes. And but of course it would be the muskiest perfume he'd ever smelled.

He was glad he hadn't eaten yet, but felt his stomach flip when a servant entered the ballroom, interrupting the band. "Dinner is served!" he announced.

"Ah, wonderful, wonderful!" spoke the Comte, taking Ellana's hand in his. "Come, everyone, let us gather in the dining hall!"

The crowd was ushered into the spacious dining hall, as elaborately decorated as the ballroom, and presented a feast. As he joined the crowd, Cullen was met with Leliana, who tugged on the Commander's arm. "We have a problem," she murmured in his ear, and led him away from the crowd, down a deserted hall. "The master chamber is locked and guarded," she told him. "And that's the only room my agents haven't searched."

"And you think it could be there?" he asked. Leliana nodded. "So what do we do?"

"Use the Comtesse," she said, to his chagrin, and every muscle tensed. "I know you don't like this, Cullen," she told him, "But you have to. Show you're interested in her, get her to invite you to her chamber. When you are able, slip this in her drink." She handed him a vial. "Dorian's handiwork. It's a sleeping drought. Effective, but it will take some time to take effect. Once it does, search the chamber, find the letter and dispose of it."

"I hope you know how much I hate you for this," he growled, pocketing the vial. Leliana smirked.

"As tense as you've been, Commander, it's about time you had some 'affection' from someone, don't you think?" she asked, and he scowled. "I only feel bad for the Inquisitor, really. Can you imagine how jealous she is of that woman?"

"I don't want to think about it," he said, swallowing the acid in the back of his throat.

"Just get her to drink that sleeping drought and wait for it to take effect," she instructed once more, before taking his arm and leading him back down the hall to the dining room.

Ellana had been seated at the head of the table next to the Comte, who was already boring her with conversation, and across from her was the Comte's wife, who practically clicked her heels in excitement when the Commander took the empty seat next to hers. Luckily for Cullen, Dorian was seated on his other side, and beside the mage was Josephine. Across from them was Cassandra, and further down the table was Leliana.

Servants lifted trays to reveal steaming food on silver platters, surprisingly decadent, considering how lowly on the social ladder the Comte actually was. He must've spared no expense for this evening and would no doubt be in debt for quite some time afterwards. The meal was fit for the Empress herself, if they had to guess, and they followed suit when the Comte raised his glass to toast their meal.

Every ounce of his attention was focused solely on the Inquisitor after that. He bored Ellana with his expectations of their alliance, while across the table Cullen attempted to bore the Comtesse with one of his Templar stories. Once he'd had enough wine in him to bring himself to speak, of course. Dorian and Josephine listened aptly to his tale, and even Cassandra leaned in to hear of it, when Cullen's storytelling became rather animated.

He was a good story teller, Dorian noticed. When speaking of something he was interested in, Cullen was very enthusiastic, and unlike Varric when he told stories in the Herald's Rest, Cullen's tales were genuine fact, rather than fiction concocted merely to entertain. He may not have been as charming as Varric, or cultured, but Dorian found the Commander to be rather captivating when he spoke and his eyes lit up.

When he finished his story, the Comtesse barked with laughter, sincerely amused by the Commander's joke.

"You are a treasure," she told him, placing a hand on his arm, and though he was still smiling, Dorian could see him stiffen at the touch. Cullen wasn't going to be able to pull this off, in Dorian's opinion. He was going to need help. And if the Comtesse was as immoral as to flirt with a man right in front of her husband like that, Dorian was certain it wouldn't be too difficult to accost her with the idea that just struck him.

He leaned in closer and gently placed his hand across Cullen's form to touch her arm.

"Our Commander is insatiable, isn't he?" Dorian asked her, drawing her attention from the man, to focus on Dorian. She giggled a little.

"Most insatiable," she purred contentedly. "Tell me, how do you find working with a man like the Commander to be, Monsieur Pavus?"

"Oh, he and I have become quite... _close_ ," he answered, catching Cullen's questioning look. He winked at the man. "I can tell you that it's never a dull moment with Cullen," he grinned, making the Commander's eyes narrow, wondering what the mage was up to.

"Hmm, _close_ , is it?" she asked, raising her glass to her mouth, biting her lip a little. Dorian leaned in closer, lowering his tone to sultry and seductive.

" _Very_ close," he murmured, making the Comtesse giggle a little into her cup as she took a sip. "You have a lovely home, Your Ladyship," he said just a little louder, to which Cullen nodded in agreement, before nervously sipping his wine.

"Yes, lovely," he managed to say to her.

"We would love to see more of it, wouldn't we, Commander?" Dorian asked, and Cullen's eyes snapped to his. He knew in that instant what the mage was doing. He was giving him just the opportunity he needed.

"Indeed we would, yes," Cullen agreed, nodding fervently. Behind Dorian, Josephine was giving them a look, but he didn't see it.

"Oh, I think a tour would be marvelous," Dorian told the Comtesse, who grinned.

"I think it would," she said. "Do excuse us, dear husband," she called to the Comte, who was still fixated on the Inquisitor. "Would you mind if I stole these lovely gentlemen away with me for a while?" she asked sweetly.

"Of course, my love, whatever you wish," he answered distractedly, waving her away while he kept his eyes on Ellana. The Comtesse excused herself from the table, and so Dorian and Cullen followed suit, blatantly, before everyone in the dining hall, being led away arm-in-arm with the Comtesse. Cassandra and Josephine shared a look, shocked that such a thing would occur, but most at the table just assumed the Comtesse was over eager to be a good hostess.

Leliana fought a grin at how successfully Dorian pulled that off, buttering up the woman like he did. The mage was certainly a charmer, of that there was no doubt.

Now all that was left to do was cross her fingers and pray.

She raised her wine glass to her face, taking a small sip before leaning back in her seat and letting her food digest. She would have to make sure to ask later just what happened between Dorian, Cullen, and the Comtesse, as it was certain to be an interesting tale, but for now she would feast her eyes on the veins popping out of Ellana's forehead. The elf looked like she would give birth to a full grown halla any moment now, she was that angry.

This was sure to leave people talking for weeks to come, and of that, none of them had a single doubt.


	4. Three's Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready to cringe, folks. Like, hardcore cringe.

With one arm linked with Cullen's, and the other linked with Ser Pavus', the Comtesse led both men through the house, showing them first the library, Dorian making sure to lacquer the woman thickly with compliments and flirtations, the whole while the Commander left with nothing more to input than an impish smile, and the occasional remark on something mundane like the tapestry.

He had no idea what Dorian was up to, but it seemed that once again he'd come to Cullen's rescue, like a manicured and mustached knight in shining armor, by not leaving the Commander alone with this eager woman. He was grateful for that. He had no idea what he would've done had he tried to accomplish this on his own. He already felt sick enough as it were, and the wine he had at dinner did little to curb the nausea.

The Comtesse had clearly overindulged in enough wine, and hardly noticed Cullen's ill state, too giddy about having two such prized members of the Inquisition, both handsome and irresistible, wandering around her mansion with her. And both evidently interested in stealing away with her, she was certain. An opportunity too good to pass up. When she'd successfully given them the tour, Dorian asked, "So, my darling, are there any... _other_ rooms of the house?"

"Yes, more... _private_ rooms you can show us?" Cullen added.

She grinned mischievously. "Come with me gentlemen," she urged with a giggle, grabbing their hands and tugging them away from the current room and out into the hall.

Cullen and Dorian shared a glance, and both rolled their eyes at the woman when she wasn't looking. As much as he might have seemed otherwise, Dorian was no more comfortable with this situation than Cullen was. He had no more interest in the Comtesse than her obviously neglecting husband, or Cullen did. But he saw an opportunity and seized it. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner they could leave.

And the sooner Dorian could dump boiling water over his head to wash away the stench of this woman's ghastly perfume. It was truly wretched. Words could not express.

She led them to her chamber and dismissed the guards, pulling out a key. "Come, let me show you my favorite room of the house," she said, and opened the door, leading the way inside the room. She skipped up the steps and twirled around in place on the landing above. Cullen and Dorian both hung back in the entryway, however, Cullen grabbing the mage's arm, vice-like grip on his bicep.

"What in the Void are we doing, Dorian?" he asked under his breath.

"Fuck if I know," was his illicit reply. "But it's working, is it not? You still have that potion I made for Leliana?" Cullen nodded. "Good. I'll keep her talking."

Dorian started to step into the room but Cullen held him back.

"But what are we going to _do_?" he pressed more adamantly, and Dorian eyed him lamely.

"Ever heard the expression, 'Just go with it,' Commander?" he asked, then patted Cullen on the arm. "Just follow my lead."

After Cullen let go, he regretted it, realizing that Dorian had been the only thing holding him upright, and he felt dizzy. He leaned in the doorway for a moment longer while Dorian waltzed into the room and resumed working over the Comtesse with his charms.

"You are truly a woman of taste," he lied sweetly with a smile, as he eyed the four poster bed with all its lace and trim.

He glanced back at Cullen and jerked his head, motioning for him to enter. Quickly he did so, shutting the door behind him, sliding the lock in place with a muffled click. He wasn't sure about this, at all, realizing that alone, and with no one standing between them, not the Inquisition, the Comte, nor even the wayward guards, the Comtesse was going to be much more blatant with her affections than before.

This was bound to get uncomfortable. And awkward.

The Comtesse let out a languid sigh and lounged on the nearby settee. "Shall we drink, perhaps, gentlemen?" she asked them, as she lazily undid her complicated up-do, allowing fiery red hair to fall over her shoulders.

"I'll be happy to get us drinks," Cullen offered, rubbing his clammy hands together as he made his way over to her wine cabinet.

"That's a good boy," Dorian purred, joining the Comtesse on the couch, Cullen rolling his eyes when his back was turned. Cullen selected goblets from the cabinet and a bottle of the first thing he found, something red and expensive looking, then seized the opportunity to spike the Comtesse's glass with Dorian's sleeping drought. Setting their glasses on a tray, he expertly carried them over, like he'd seen many a servant do.

He was sure to hand the Comtesse her glass first, which she took without pause. Cullen started to wonder about this woman and her ability to play the Game if she were that trusting. Or was naïve and trusting part of her act? Was she playing both men right now? Or was this genuine interest in them she was displaying? Cullen could only wonder, because she was drunk already, and all her movement was heavily exaggerated.

Once the wine had been dispensed, Cullen sat down on the other side of the Comtesse, shooting Dorian a wary glance.

"You boys are easily the most handsome men in all of Orlais," the redhead complimented, first reaching to pet Dorian's leg, and then Cullen's before tipping back her glass. "But of course!" she paused. "Neither of you are Orlesian!" she laughed, and finished her drink.

"Bottoms up, darling," Dorian told her, tipping her glass further with his finger to ensure she drank every drop, shooting Cullen a wink. The Commander prayed to the Maker with all his might the potion kicked in soon. Leliana only said it would take time to effect her, but neither the spy nor the mage specified just how long it would take. He tensed when she laughed and stroked his thigh.

"I took one look at you, Commander, and decided I _must_ have you," she said, and he raised a brow as if to say, 'Oh really?' And on the other side of him, he was certain the smirk on Dorian's face meant he found this whole thing comical. As the Comtesse admired Cullen's chest and arms, Cullen shot the man an angered glare that said, 'I'm going to kill you for this,' making Dorian snort as he took a drink.

"And you, Monsieur Pavus," she said, turning to Dorian, tickling his chin with her fingers, forcing Dorian to pretend to be amused by the unwanted contact, "You are just as delightful as our strapping soldier, no?" She giggled. "I've always been curious of you mages."

"My dear Comtesse, what would your husband say?" Dorian asked her and she playfully batted his arm, chuckling.

"Oh, my dear husband is too busy trying to charm the Inquisitor to have a care," she admitted. "He has a fondness for elven heathens," she explained, and both men tensed at how easily she referred to Ellana as a heathen. "He's hoping to entice her with a similar arrangement to the one we are in now," she laughed. "But what woman would be jealous? Not when I have the two most handsome men of Thedas in my chambers."

"Hmm, so was this alliance all a ruse then?" Dorian asked. "It was all just an elaborate hoax to get to steal away with notorious mages and rakish soldiers?" Once more she laughed, waving off his question.

"Who cares about an alliance?" she asked them. "I grow bored of listening to my husband's schemes. Come, the two of you are much better entertainment. I've decided I must have you both. I've always wanted two men at once. But alas, my dear husband is not as adventurous as the two of you seem to be. Would you be interested in such an arrangement?"

Cullen nearly choked on his drink. Dorian was less put off by the request than the Commander, as he'd predicted as much, but it was one thing to string the Comtesse along, and another to actually go through with it. Maker but he'd dreamed of getting Cullen into bed. He'd even been tempted before by a desire demon with Cullen's face, but the demon bored him with its empty promises, and was easily chased away.

Dorian could tell Cullen was not comfortable with this at all. A pity. It could be fun. Well, if it were just the two of them and they could toss the annoying redhead out a high window beforehand. Not that he would never consider a ménage à trois, but in the company of this middle aged Orlesian tart with obvious marital issues and no sense of propriety? Two was good company, but three was a crowd.

"My dear, perhaps you would allow me and my...companion to discuss this privately first?" Dorian asked her, and she shrugged. Then she reached up to caress his cheek.

"Don't keep me waiting too long, handsome," she told him, and he smiled, kissing her hand.

"Of course not, my dear," he said and rose from his seat, motioning for Cullen to follow him to the other side of the room.

He glanced back to see the Comtesse was still conscious–amazingly–and he raised a sharp brow when she started to undress, before turning his back on her. "Sweet Maker, is she serious?" Cullen asked, absolutely aghast at the situation Dorian had unwittingly gotten them into. He glanced back to also catch a glimpse of her undressing, and immediately turned back, face turning a deeper shade of crimson. "Maker's breath, she is!" he hissed.

"Calm down, Commander," Dorian chastised between his teeth. "It shouldn't be much longer before the wine takes effect."

"Yes, but how long?" Cullen asked.

"A few minutes? At most an hour."

"An hou-" Cullen started to exclaim, but Dorian held up a finger in warning and his mouth snapped closed. "Did you plan for this to happen?!"

"No, I didn't!" Dorian swore. "I thought we'd just string her along a little until the wine kicked in. Trust me this was not how I planned to get you in bed with me, if ever."

Cullen shot Dorian an award winning glare at the very mention of the mage seducing him.

"Don't you dare make that face at me," Dorian hissed, pointing his finger. "That is an awful face for you to make at someone who was trying to _help_ you here. You would never have gotten this far had I not meddled, and it would be you in here _alone_ with her if not for my help!"

"Help? You call dragging me into a threesome with that-" He glanced behind him, saw her half naked, in only a laced corset and silk stockings, on the couch with her wine glass in hand, gave her a smile, then turned back to Dorian, smile quickly reverting to a look of utter disgust. "Maker's breath," he cursed breathlessly, feeling like his heart was about to explode, and not from arousal, but from sheer terror.

"Dorian, this isn't going to work," he said. "I'm not attracted to men, and I'm-"

Once more Cullen glanced back to see the Comtesse lying on the couch, absently touching herself while she eyed the two of them.

"-Maker, I'm definitely not attracted to that," Cullen winced.

"Neither am I," said Dorian. "Believe you me, Commander, I am just as outclassed as you in this. And equally ill prepared. But we just need to string her along for a few more minutes. So we'll just...act like we're going to and..." He shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"You always say that right before the worst thing happens, Dorian," Cullen growled, but Dorian was already turning back to the Comtesse once more, putting on his charming smile, while inwardly wanting to kick himself for setting this up. Cullen followed him over to the couch, and stood just out of Dorian's line of sight, no doubt on the verge of spewing everything he'd eaten.

"You have convinced us," Dorian grinned, and the Comtesse smiled.

"I knew you would not be able to resist," she said. She sat up a little, and motioned for them to come closer. "I'd like the pleasure of watching the two of you first," she requested. Dorian chuckled, side-eyeing Cullen. Maker, the Commander was going to kill him for this. If they were ever friends before, there was no chance they would remain so after this, Dorian was now convinced.

"You must forgive us, my dear," Dorian then told her. "While you are...certainly undeniable, my companion and I," He glanced at Cullen who was somewhere between murder and tears, "We're not used to an audience."

Cullen said absolutely nothing at first, but glared at Dorian for a moment, before saying, "No, we are most certainly not," between his teeth.

"Oh come now, don't be shy, darlings," the Comtesse cooed at them both. "Come, have another drink."

That sounded like a wonderful idea to Cullen, who took a few steps toward the end table and picked up his glass, downing its contents in a single gesture.

Then he back stepped toward Dorian. Both men sighed, and slowly turned to one another. Obviously the Comtesse was too oblivious to how awkward this was for either man, either that or she'd suspected they were playing her all along and purposefully made it awkward for them out of spite. Regardless, this was about as bad as it could get, short of Cullen being forced to have sex with Dorian, he surmised.

But they really had no choice but to do what the woman asked until the potion kicked in, short of bashing her over the head with something, which was ill-advised. "Do you trust me?" Dorian murmured, stepping closer, and Cullen sighed and nodded, knowing the man wouldn't do anything to hurt him at least. "Then just hold still and please, for the love of the Maker, whatever you do, don't strangle me."

He was tempted. Maker was Cullen tempted. He stiffened at Dorian's approach, clenching both fists and flexing his jaw in anticipation. It wasn't like he'd never been kissed before, but never had he been kissed by a man, and he didn't know how he'd react to it, his stomach twisting in knots. Andraste preserve him if he ended up spilling his dinner from nervousness, but he took a deep breath through his nose, steeling his resolve.

He was overreacting, really. It was just a harmless kiss, and soon enough the Comtesse would be unconscious. He held his breath and closed his eyes as Dorian reached up to cup his cheek, the jewelry on his hand flashing in the candlelight, catching Cullen's attention before his eyes closed. His heart leapt, and before he was completely aware of it, he felt Dorian's mouth on his, lips pressed gently to his own.

It was strange, honestly. Cullen sort of stopped being aware of everything else the moment Dorian kissed him. His lips were surprisingly soft, though he could feel a slight prickle from his mustache. He was scared to breathe, for some reason, and just held it, while Dorian pressed light kisses to his lips, reaching around to caress the back of his neck. Fingers carded his hair, in the same spot he always rubbed when he was nervous, making him relax a touch.

Lips slightly parted and he partially let out the breath he'd been holding, coming out in a ragged sigh. Dorian took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, just a little, tentatively reaching with his tongue to lick the underside of his lip, like he was asking for permission. Cullen's heart sped up, and he didn't really know what to do other than to open and allow it, hands trembling in nervousness at his sides, so he placed them on Dorian's hips.

He had some measure of control then, at least able to keep Dorian from pressing against him, and it provided some stability should he faint. But no, he was still conscious, insofar, and braced for Dorian's tongue to plunder his mouth quite suddenly, as he expected. He did not, however, expect to be somewhat aroused by it. But he gasped, and twitched a little, starting to stiffen when Dorian twisted his mouth against his and drank from him in such a way.

And what he did with his tongue, it was-

Sweet Maker! Dorian was turning him on!

He was shocked beyond belief for that split second that it registered in his mind.

Before his ears were immediately met with the most atrocious moan he'd ever heard from the Comtesse who was watching, doing well to make him soften. He didn't want to know what she was doing, but it sounded like she was pleasuring herself, and Maker's breath he wished she wouldn't. The sounds she made were so exaggerated, and so bloody annoying, grating on his patience, making it nigh impossible to concentrate.

"Oh yes! So sexy!" she called from the couch, oohs and ahhs shortly following.

Andraste preserve him, he'd heard tavern whores with more believable moans and sighs!

'For fucks sake, will you please shut up!' was on the tip of his tongue. But then so was Dorian's, and that served to distract him for a moment longer still.

He found himself clenching Dorian's sides in both aggravation and urgency, causing Dorian to backpedal a little, unsure of the message he was receiving. But Maker's breath did it feel good. It was strange for him as well, as he'd imagined so many scenarios in his head of molesting Cullen's beautiful mouth, licking that scar on his upper lip, and so much more, but all of them involved the Commander being a willing participant.

Cullen's admittance of not being attracted to men stuck in his mind, and made him genuinely concerned when Cullen gripped him quite suddenly. He pulled away a little, watching as Cullen slowly opened his eyes, the glimmer of amber flashing in the candlelight. He was only vaguely aware of the Comtesse leaving the couch and approaching them, no doubt to finally join in. Cullen opened his mouth to speak, but didn't get the chance.

They heard the thump, and the Comtesse finally hit the floor.

He tore himself from Cullen, glancing at the Comtesse's limp body sprawled out on the carpet, saying, "It's about bloody time, is it not?" in good humor, though his heart raced in his chest still, and he almost couldn't look Cullen in the eye. He swallowed any proverbial remark and marched over to the sleeping woman before them, bending to snap his fingers in her face, just to be sure she was out. "Let's look for that letter, shall we?"

Cullen swallowed and nodded absently, though Dorian couldn't see it. He wiped his hands on his trousers before busying himself with searching the room, careful to put anything he found back where it belonged. After a minute or so, he heard Dorian say, "Found it." It was in the nightstand right next to the bed, and plain as day could Empress Celene's exclusively designed insignia be seen stamped into the paper.

The Tevinter Altus would take nothing at face value and broke open the seal, unfolding the parchment to check its contents. It was a letter addressed to the Inquisition, though it didn't say who it was from, whether Celene or a third party, and Dorian didn't care to know the details, only cared that indeed his name was written on the paper, as well as the others, and even a few names he didn't recognize.

Likely some of Leliana's agents that would be compromised should the parchment fall into the wrong hands. Probably the real reason Leliana pressed for the letter to be destroyed and the matter to be dealt with. Dorian saw no mention of his family however, and per the Spymaster's instruction, summoned flame to burn the letter down to ash with a simple spell. Then he flicked his wrists, extinguishing the flames.

The deed was done, and now they just needed to deal with the Comtesse.

"Let's put her in the bed, make it look like she drank herself to a stupor and passed out," he suggested, and Cullen nodded. Though the look on his face was one of annoyance still. There were so many jokes Dorian could make about this situation, but he kept his mouth shut and wordlessly aided Cullen in carrying her to the bed, then tucked her in it. He wiped clean her cup with a cloth, removing any lingering traces of the sleeping drought.

He then refilled the cup and set it, along with the half empty wine bottle, next to her on the nightstand. He placed his and Cullen's cups back in the cabinet, while the Commander finished tidying up the room, then arranged her discarded clothes by the bed. It looked for all the world as if they'd never been there. Hopefully it would appear as if the Comtesse overindulged a little, enough to entice two men to bed with her, that never obliged.

There were no guards at the door still, and no one to see them exit the chamber, then make their way back to the party still in swing. Though by now, dinner was over, and most of the guests had already retired. But a few graced the ballroom still, including the Inquisitor and their companions. The Comte was nowhere to be seen, they guessed he was in the parlor, but he was no longer pestering Ellana.

Ellana Lavellan didn't know what to think when she saw Dorian and Cullen return, both men looking flustered, Dorian looking like a spooked horse, and Cullen looking like he was seconds away from committing mass murder, clenching both fists. But she could take a guess. She watched as they approached the Spymaster, pulled her away from the conversation she was having with another guest, and spoke quietly with her.

She nodded a little, then asked them a question, causing the Commander to scowl even harder, angrier than before. He didn't answer the question when it was asked again, merely shook his head and kept his eyes on the dance floor after that. Beside them, Dorian was shooting Cullen glances every once in a while, but then Josephine asked him something, and much like Cullen he merely shook his head in reply.

The Inquisitor desperately wished to know what they were saying.

Ellana leaned back against the column behind her, sighing at the scene before her. It had all been ruined for her. She'd hoped it would be an opportunity to spend some time with Cullen, dance with him, flirt with him maybe, and get him alone somewhere. But of course the Comtesse, and Leliana's insane plan to use her attraction to Cullen as their scapegoat that night had to ruin all that.

And what did Ellana get instead? Why, she had to listen to that damnable Comte all evening. If only people _knew_ how much she suffered for the Inquisition.

She was ready for this party to be over.

They all were.

Especially Cullen and Dorian, who, the Altus comprised, might never speak again after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points to Cullen for not spewing his dinner.
> 
> Double points to Dorian for being a phenomenal kisser XD


	5. After The Fact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I got impatient, and couldn't wait any longer. So here's the aftermath.

Cullen paced in his guest room late into the night, unable to sleep, and unable to wipe the evening from his mind.

It was probably just the wine, or the stress maybe. Perhaps it was simply how long it had been since he'd been touched like that, and it was his body's way of saying he was desperate for companionship. But the way it felt when Dorian–No. He dare not entertain the thought for now, for at the moment he was still too flustered. It was too new, too raw, too recent, still fresh in his mind, and too confusing of a thought to process as of yet.

So instead he stewed on everything that happened afterwards.

When they left the Comtesse's chamber, Dorian said not a word to him, much less did he joke with him, or tease him per usual, and when they made it back to the party he didn't even look the Commander in the eye. And the look on his face. It was familiar to Cullen, and it gave him chills. The way Dorian barely met his gaze, it was like the many mages he'd crossed paths with in his lifetime that shied away from him. Wary of him.

Afraid of him.

He couldn't bear to see that look on his friend's face.

It was a rare glimpse of insecurity, of vulnerability that he'd never seen the mage display before. He was always so confident, sort of cocky really, always sarcastic, always with something witty to say at the drop of a hat, that Cullen almost forgot sometimes that there was actually a person inside of that capable of being hurt or offended. It made him wonder if Dorian had been brutally rejected in the past, or at some point in his life.

He never outright denied his interest in men, but he wasn't obvious with it either. It never bothered the Commander really, and to be frank, it was none of his business. Cullen had seen many a man like Dorian as a Templar, men that only just barely hid their interest in others of the Order, for the sake of the sanctity of their duties. But also men that hid their interest in other men for fear of prejudice against them.

Dorian was such a man that would use any means to get under someone's skin, but always chose his words carefully, and he never toed the line with Cullen. He teased, but he never flirted with Cullen or accosted him relentlessly like Ellana did, as if he could sense it wasn't warranted. He respected Cullen. Maker's sake, he was the _only_ one at Skyhold that actually knocked on the door to Cullen's office instead of barging in.

It seemed evident to Cullen as to why he guarded himself. Aside from same sex relationships being heavily frowned upon, it was likely Dorian was protective of himself for fear of rejection, or abuse of any kind.

He might've been mislead before, or took someone's admiration the wrong way, and acted upon it, only to be hurt by it. It raised a lot of questions in Cullen's mind of what it was like for him in Tevinter, but more importantly, it raised a lot of concern for Cullen's friend. He didn't blame Dorian for any of it, not really, and didn't want Dorian to think he was angry with him, when in fact he wasn't.

He was just...severely confused at the moment, and didn't know what to think of the whole affair.

For the love of the Maker, Dorian kissed him, and he _enjoyed_ it!

It was devastating to come to terms with, really. Not that he was disgusted in any way–in truth, he wasn't, and that was the confusing part–but he was just so shocked by it still. And it must've showed on his face that night, for everyone kept asking him if he were alright, if something was wrong, and all he could do was lamely shake his head, for he dare not speak of it. Words were lost before they even formed.

All he managed was, "I have a headache."

And Maker, it killed him to see Dorian look away from him like he did when he caught him glancing his way. He must've thought Cullen was livid over the whole thing, and would never speak to him again, simply because he was too stunned to process the information at the moment. He'd always been fairly anchored in terms of his sexuality, and did he dare entertain the idea that perhaps he wasn't as anchored as he thought?

Was he actually attracted to Dorian? Or was it just a fluke? He couldn't really tell, and it was driving him insane just thinking about all of it, with no way to voice his concerns.

He'd have to make it up to him somehow. He doubted he would be able to get through the day if he couldn't play chess with Dorian in the garden, or have lunch with him in the Great Hall. If he wasn't going to be able to be friends with Dorian after this, and if things were just going to be terribly awkward between them, he didn't think he'd be able to handle all the stress, the nightmares, and the withdrawals.

Maker's breath, Dorian had saved his life, and he trusted him with it.

He couldn't let this get between them. As awkward and embarrassing as this was going to be, it was necessary he get this over with, and so without even bothering to dress, Cullen snatched up a wooden box sitting on the dresser, left his guest room, tiptoeing down the hall in nothing but his trousers, stealing away to raid the Comte's kitchen for leftover dessert and a bottle of really expensive looking wine.

That should ease them into it, the Commander was certain.

Dorian nearly jumped out of his skin some time later when there was a knock on his door. He'd also been pacing, going over the evening in his mind, restless though he was ever so tired, somewhere between fighting the urge to pleasure himself to the memory of Cullen's kiss, and just throwing himself over the balcony to fall to his doom rather than live with himself. That may have been a little over-dramatic, but he felt so terrible still.

He absolutely adored Cullen, and while he found it mildly amusing that he should wind up in such an impossible situation with the most sought after man at Skyhold, _literally_ the man of his dreams, he also felt extremely guilty. He never should've encouraged it. He still remembered how it felt, feeling forced when he interacted with a woman, feeling like he'd be sick, like he'd rather be anywhere else, and he knew Cullen must've felt the same.

It wasn't fair, to either of them, really.

He really should've tried harder to find other means to distract the Comte's wife, rather than so easily give in to the temptation.

But Dorian and temptation had a rather love-hate relationship.

And, Maker help him, it was _perfect_. It was so invigorating, and he felt like he'd been kissed for the first time, all over again. So tentative and uncertain, and his heart pounded in his chest. Yes, it was just a kiss, nothing to get so worked up about, so he reminded himself, repeatedly. But he'd never felt like that before with just a kiss. Not with any man. And the agony that it should be with the one man he couldn't have, not even in secret.

Maker take him, he'd shared that with Cullen _Fucking_ Rutherford of all people.

It was both a dream come true and a nightmare, rolled into one.

So of course he jumped when someone knocked three times sharply on the door, and he smeared a hand across his face. "Kaffas," he cursed under his breath, screwing his face up into a scowl, planning to tell whoever it was to royally piss off and slam the door in their face. Sera would've been proud, probably, were she there to see him finally lose all sense of propriety, beyond reason.

But when he wrenched open the door, only to be faced with a shirtless Cullen, he paled.

There he was, with every beautiful muscle on display–even accented with faded little scars from various battles–and it was difficult to keep from drooling over the man, and focus on his face, for a split second. And Cullen looked absolutely pitiful, like a lost puppy standing out in the cold on someone's doorstep. His hair was slightly disheveled in the sexiest fashion and for a moment Dorian would have liked to have died just looking at him.

_Fuck me, and my life,_ he cursed in his head, while simultaneously softening his expression a touch and leaning against the door frame, changing his demeanor from spiteful to slightly less spiteful at the intrusion. "I wasn't sure you were awake still," Cullen said sheepishly, holding a thin rectangular wooden box, chocolate cake perched on top of it, and a bottle of wine to pair with the dessert.

Dorian eyed the cake hungrily for a moment. He barely touched his plate at dinner, finding Orlesian cuisine to be anything but edible. Chocolate, however, was his weakness, and the cake looked and smelled delectable.

Dorian quickly put on a sly grin. "He comes to my chamber with wine and chocolate," he said. "My, this will certainly have people talking, won't it?"

At the quip, Cullen came close to sighing in relief. The familiar blithe in Dorian's tone of voice set him more at ease and he relaxed against the door frame, huffing in amusement. Either he wasn't as upset at Cullen as he thought, or he'd already gotten over it. "It's a peace offering," he said, glazing over Dorian's comment that it was some sort of romantic gesture. "I just..." He sighed. "I owe you an apology-"

"Apology accepted," Dorian interrupted, reaching for the dish and wrenching it from Cullen's grasp, causing Cullen to snort with laughter, that he quickly had to stifle as to not disturb the sleeping. With his other hand, Dorian snatched the wine bottle, saying, "Is this _gâteau au chocolat_ with peppermint frosting?" He tasted it by dabbing a corner with his finger. "Oh yes, indeed it is," he groaned. "Maker, that's good."

Cullen still hung in the doorway, unsure of how to proceed.

"Well? Don't just stand there twiddling your thumbs, Commander, get in."

He ushered Cullen inside and snapped the door closed. He thought to lock it just for good measure, but changed his mind.

"So we survived the Comte's dinner party," Cullen remarked, watching Dorian as he set the cake aside and searched for the corkscrew he was certain he'd packed with his things, for it never hurt to be prepared.

"And we survived the _Comtesse_ ," Dorian threw out as he searched his nightstand. Behind him Cullen groaned.

"Maker, that woman, I hope to never see again."

"We should _be_ so lucky."

"That was more awkward than the prospect of getting caught naked and cornered by a Revered Mother," Cullen remarked. Dorian snorted. "I don't know what was worse really. Her perfume or those Maker awful noises she was making." Both he and Dorian shuttered in disgust at the memory. "She sounded like she was being strangled. I wanted to do that honor at one point. I've heard brothel women that were better actors, and they were faking it."

Dorian chuckled. "Sweet, innocent and pious Commander Cullen at a brothel, now there's a picture to paint." He turned once he found the needed corkscrew, to catch the tail end of Cullen rolling his eyes.

"Does that really shock you?" the Commander asked. "Maker, Dorian, just because I'm not as flippant as you, that does not mean I'm innocent, you know." When Dorian was just about to fire off a jilted remark, Cullen stopped him, pointing a finger. "Don't even think about it," he chuckled. "You keep those thoughts to yourself, I don't want to hear them."

Dorian sighed. "What's that?" He gestured to the box.

"This is, uh," Cullen scratched his head in thought of it, "I'm not sure what it's called exactly. I can't remember. But it's sort of like chess. I bought it at one of those market stalls in Val Royeaux. Brought it with me. In case any of us got bored. Want to play?"

At such a question it was Dorian who almost sighed in relief. The moment Cullen sparked his competitive streak he relaxed his shoulders and gestured to the bed. It was adoring how the Commander was trying to act normal, as if nothing had happened, as if they could still be friends after this. But he could still sense a headiness in the air. A bit of tension under the surface. Best to get this over with before he changed his mind.

He flopped down on the bed and pulled his legs underneath of him, and with only a moment's hesitation Cullen did the same, sitting cross-legged across from him on the bed, opening the box and preparing the game while Dorian popped the cork on the wine bottle. Absently mused upon their situation now, as it were, and the fact that both men were shirtless, half clothed, on a bed, with a bottle of wine and dessert.

To anyone that didn't know them, or know their habits, yes it would seem like this was a romantic affair of some kind, and not in any way platonic in nature. Which was odd to think about, just how comfortable they were, and Dorian surmised that if there were sex involved, he wondered if this was what it would feel like being in a domestic situation. But he quickly dismissed all further thought of it when Cullen emptied the box's contents on the bed.

It was not a chess board he revealed, nor a board at all, but a piece of square linen, one in which smaller squares had been embroidered with black thread, like a chess board but clearly not, and the shape was all wrong for it. All the squares were aligned, instead of diagonal. And the pieces were strange. Two sets, but only one of them had a king. "What in the Void is this?" Dorian asked, and Cullen shrugged.

"Some sort of Avvar strategy game," he answered. He started to set all the bleached wooden pieces in the middle, with the king at the center, then arranged the darker wooden pieces along the sides, all four of them, surrounding the lighter pieces. Dorian raised a brow.

"I'm now completely convinced those barbarians are absolutely mad," he remarked, and Cullen chuckled. Then he explained the rules. According to the salesman, the goal was for one side to get their king to any of the four corners, otherwise known as 'camps', without being taken, and the other side was to try and prevent that, and take the king, called a 'chieftain'. He said the paler pieces represented the Avvar, and the darker were the Avvar's enemies.

Each piece was only able to move to certain spaces, and only to certain sections of the board. Each side could not enter the spaces belonging to the other side, only the blank squares. It was odd, but mildly amusing. Though after a few moves were made, Dorian sighed. "So are we going to talk about this, or just pretend nothing happened at all?" he finally asked before taking a drink, and it was Cullen's turn to sigh.

"I'd rather forget it happened, if you don't mind," he answered, and Dorian almost didn't want to hand him the bottle when he reached for it after saying that. But he did, reluctantly sharing his consolation wine with the man, tearing off a piece of cake from the bulk of it to sample. "And whatever you do, please, for the love of the Maker, Dorian, I beg of you, don't breathe a word of it to the Inquisitor."

He quickly swallowed and asked, "But then how will I ever lord it over Ellana's head that I got to kiss you first?" He grinned from ear to ear, half expecting Cullen to snap at him for that remark, but he didn't, surprisingly, and instead simply groaned and cradled his head. He was blushing again, and it was positively adorable. Making that familiar twinge in Dorian's stomach start up again. He really shouldn't taunt the man, but he couldn't help it.

It was either that or wallow in self pity, a thing of which he loathed to do right this moment.

There would be plenty of time for all that nonsense at Skyhold.

Cullen scrubbed his face with both hands for a moment before sighing. "Look, I'm not upset, I would just rather–I didn't want this to–I don't know how to explain it, really, but I didn't want it to..."

"Change things between us?" Dorian guessed, and Cullen nodded. "Has it?"

"Has what?"

"Has it changed things between us?"

"Well, no, not really. And I still want to be friends, I just didn't want you to think-"

"Commander, if nothing has changed then there is nothing to fuss over, and no use being so dramatic about it, now is there?" Dorian clipped, and Cullen slumped both shoulders in defeat.

Dorian was right–he was always right. If it didn't change anything between them, and they were still friends, still able to enjoy one another's company in earnest, then why trouble himself about it? But...well, it _did_ change some things, rather. A few new thoughts lingered in the back of Cullen's mind, a few new questions he'd like to ask. They'd never really discussed Dorian's preference for men before. What was the harm in it now.

"So, you're attracted to men," he commented.

"Yes," was Dorian's clipped response before moving a piece on the board. "Is this a problem?"

"No."

"Ah, good, because for a moment I was actually concerned with what you think of me," he dripped with sarcasm. Cullen snorted. He highly doubted that would _ever_ be the case.

"So, can I ask you something then?"

"You just did."

Cullen rolled his eyes at that. "No, I...The rumors about you and the Iron Bull, are they true then?"

Dorian scoffed, swiping the bottle to take another drink. "I bet that big oaf would just love it if they were," he sneered. "But no, for the record, they aren't actually. But it's remarkable how if you make one sarcastic remark about something and suddenly it's all the rage at Skyhold, isn't it?" Cullen raised a brow, almost as if he weren't quite believing that it was only a rumor, and Dorian shrugged. "Besides, if it were true, you would never hear of it."

"I wouldn't?" Cullen asked. "People talk in the training yard, you know. You wouldn't believe some of the things I've heard." He took a drink from the bottle when he was handed it, maintaining that bemused expression as he did.

"My dear Cullen, you would never hear of it because I wouldn't speak of it," Dorian told him. "I don't kiss and tell, Commander. I'm above that sort of thing. I prefer my private affairs to remain just that. Private."

Cullen held up a hand, as if conceding the point, chuckling, then saying, "So do I."

"I gathered," Dorian said with a nod. "Which is why though I despise having to keep such a secret, that would surely have tongues wagging for months on end, and Mother Giselle fainting at the mention, I'm sure–which I would _love_ to see–I won't breathe a word of what happened. Believe it or not, I do value our friendship, Commander. Also the ability to blackmail you on occasion."

He smirked when Cullen pretended to be shocked and appalled, clutching his chest, then smiled and gestured to the chess board, if they could call it such, and urged that they continue their game.

Time ticked slowly by as they played, most of their conversation revolving around the game. They each made a few moves, stopped to go over the rules again when they got confused, and it frustrated the ever loving shit out of Dorian. "Kaffas, I can't even remember what pieces are supposed to move where!" he exclaimed. "And you can't tell them apart! They're all the same type of piece!"

"That's because they're all pawns on the board, Dorian. None are more or less valuable than the other, and they all serve the same purpose. Protect the chieftain."

"Well, I see that, Cullen, but _why_ aren't any of them different? And why does only the _one_ side have the chieftain, and why can't I move that piece over there? How can the Avvar even stand to play this game? It doesn't make sense!"

"Look, it's simple," Cullen said, for the third time. "They all move any number of squares, but only horizontally or vertically, not diagonally. That's why you can't put that one there. Only here. And you only remove a piece when you've cornered it by two of your own, on each side. There's only one piece so you can't claim that pawn...But...you could claim _this_ one." Cullen pointed to another of his pieces.

"That's ridiculous," Dorian scoffed, probably for the hundredth time that night, then took another drink from the now half empty wine bottle before handing it to Cullen.

He took it, saying, "That's just how the game is played," with a shrug.

"If Ellana ever makes me go to an Avvar encampment and they force me to play this, please, Cullen just stab me."

Cullen chuckled. "Do you want me to maim you, or just flat out kill you?"

"This game will kill me first," he said. "Slowly, and painfully."

"We can stop playing if you want. It _is_ getting pretty late. We could always finish it some other time."

"No, no, I'm still winning for the moment, it appears, and I'm not letting you have a chance to beat me because we have to reset the board," Dorian huffed. "It may be aggravating, but I'll endure it, if only to wipe that smug look off your face. You're cute when you do that. It's rather annoying."

"Cute he says," Cullen mumbled, shaking his head, then took another drink. He bit back any remark he might have on that. While it never bothered him before, Dorian's banter hadn't quite sat the same with him that night, and he knew why. But if he dwell on it too long, or said anything untoward about it, it would unmake all the effort of salvaging their friendship, wouldn't it? "So...Iron Bull isn't your type, is he?" he inquired instead, being curious.

"Oh _that_ again?" Dorian whined, and Cullen chuckled, happy the tables were turned, and Dorian was the one made uncomfortable for a change.

"I'm only curious," he shrugged. Dorian sighed.

"No, he isn't," he said. "He's not unattractive, for a giant, at least. And the idea of royally pissing off my family, and half my country by sleeping with a Qunari agent does sound like something I would do for the fun of it, but I'm not going to jump into bed with someone simply because they're interested. A man must have standards, you know. Have you slept with the Inquisitor merely because she's hounded you for months? Likely not."

"True," Cullen admitted. "Seems a silly reason to be with someone."

"And speaking of Ellana, since you're so determined to talk about _my_ personal affairs, have you spoken to her yet?"

Cullen grimaced. "No, and I wasn't planning to, actually." Dorian huffed in disbelief, shaking his head before taking another drink. "Look, she and I have so little in common, we don't even share the same religion, and it would only complicate things between us. She's the Inquisitor, and even without any other setbacks, her position as our leader rather makes it impossible to work with her while maintaining a personal relationship."

"Then tell her."

"I...I can't. I don't want to disappoint her. And I'm not so sure how well she'd take being rejected." Cullen and Dorian both sighed at that. There was little more Dorian could do about the matter to help him, aside from telling Ellana for him. "Wait, so if Iron Bull isn't up to your standards, who is then?" Dorian eyed him disbelievingly for a moment before moving a piece on the board. "Wait, it's not me, is it?" Cullen then asked. "Surely I'm not the standard."

"Well, you _are_ impossibly handsome, Commander, surely you realize this," Dorian told him, then blinked in surprise at his own remark. Must've been the wine talking. He never would've said that sober. He would've come up with something far more witty than that.

"Looks aren't everything," Cullen told him.

"True, but your naivety more than makes up for your charm, of course," Dorian quipped, hoping to make Cullen roll his eyes, and to recover from the stunning admittance that fell from his lips not moments before. But Cullen just smirked.

"I'm not naïve, Dorian," he said. "But you think I'm charming, do you?"

_Impossibly charming,_ Dorian thought. _And devastatingly beautiful_.

"Well between you me, you're also a remarkable kisser, but that's about _all_ you've got going for you, Commander," he teased, and Cullen's face turned bright red once more, and he dipped his chin a little, almost bashfully. He rubbed the back of his neck in nervousness, and at that point, Dorian was certain he'd crossed the line. Anymore teasing after that, and Cullen would likely tire of it enough to snap at him, or leave the room.

"Well, now I know you're lying," Cullen told him, then moved a piece on the board.

"Nonsense," Dorian told him. "I may bend the truth, Commander, but I never lie. Lying is in poor taste, and terribly rude, you know." Dorian took longer to make his move, still confused by the pieces on the board, and which move might save him.

Cullen chuckled at his statement. "Then why do I always get the feeling you're constantly yanking my chain whenever you prattle?" he asked. "Can you even answer that without sarcasm? Or without turning it into a perverted quip of some sort?"

Dorian thought about that.

"You know, you're right, it _is_ getting late," he said, forcing a yawn, stretching before glancing at the window, seeing the early morning light peeking through the curtain. Cullen laughed and shook his head at him. "I stand corrected. It's _early_ , Commander."

Cullen looked up at the light pouring in. "So it is. We spent all night trying to figure out this game, didn't we?"

"I don't suppose we'll finish it before the others are awake," Dorian dismayed. "You'd better head back to your room before you're noticed. Wouldn't want anyone spotting the Commander sneaking out of the quarters belonging to the notorious Ser Pavus, would we? People will talk, you know, start making claims you were bewitched by blood magic. Start lighting the torches, pulling out the pitchforks."

Now _that_ made Cullen uncomfortable. "We'll finish this game some other time, perhaps," he said, and Dorian nodded, helping him to put the pieces back in the box, and clean up their mess. He hoped by the Maker Cullen didn't notice Dorian's hand accidentally brushing his when they both stuffed pieces in at the same time. Whether he did, or didn't, Cullen didn't say a word. Only, "Goodnight, Dorian," before he left.

"And good morning, Cullen," was Dorian's response, before closing the door behind him.

When it was closed, Dorian leaned against the door and sighed, briefly brushing his lower lip with his thumb. He could still feel it, feel the kiss they shared on his lips, and could imagine it if he closed his eyes.

And on the other side of the door, so could Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The game mentioned is Tafl, a Viking strategy game that is super addicting. Thought it made a nice little gimmick.


	6. The Haves And Have-Nots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for some really depressing shit at the end.
> 
> Also, apologies in advance.

The ride back to Skyhold was boring and tedious, but also blissfully quiet for the most part. Marked by long stretches of silence in between the occasional conversation striking up. But mostly silence, to the Commander's relief.

Ellana didn't talk to him, likely because she was under the impression that he'd come down with symptoms of his withdrawal, and since others were with them that didn't know about it, she kept her mouth shut and left him be, for once. Though at least she respected his privacy. Leliana didn't bother asking Cullen what happened after the initial question of it afterwards, and instead pestered Dorian on the trip, who regaled them with a boring version.

Which, suffice to say, meant he left out the part about the kiss.

But he did fess up about the two of them almost ending up in a love triangle, though he made it sound more like he and Dorian were the heroes of their story, rather than in way over their heads. Instead of the Comtesse putting the Altus and the Commander in such an awkward and embarrassing position, he made it sound more like it was Cullen and Dorian's plan all along to get her to acquiesce to such an arrangement.

Well, it was Dorian's plan anyway. Cullen didn't actually have anything to do with that. He more or less played along with the gag to keep the Comtesse from growing suspicious of them. But that wasn't the version Dorian told. Their companions were both shocked and awed at the boldness of the plan, Cassandra utterly appalled, Leliana impressed, Josephine in a fit of laughter, and the Inquisitor in a very pissy mood after hearing it.

Though she did say to Dorian at one point how very disappointed she was that she didn't get to see it play out and only heard about it.

But it was the Inquisitor who got the worst of it all, according to Josephine, who'd overheard most of the conversation. The Comte had all but tried to take her right there on the table apparently, and that left Cullen a little disturbed. Had the smarmy Orlesian laid one hand on Ellana, Cullen wouldn't have stood for it. While Ellana could be a bit overbearing, she was much too good for that sort of behavior.

Luckily, she scraped through with no more than a few hand touches and a waltz, though. The Comte never actually touched her. Just hit on her. Constantly.

Someone asked what the fuss was all about with the letter that started the whole thing in the first place. Dorian had revealed that indeed they had been mentioned in the letter, along with several others, though he didn't specify who. Leliana, who had remained illusive throughout the incident, didn't specify either, marking Dorian's suspicions correct that they were her agents in Orlais.

The only thing that was unclear was whether or not it was actually the Empress, or someone gaining access to the Empress' stationary, forging a letter in her name, in order to make it appear as if the Crown plotted against the Inquisition, and meant to turn them against one another. How Gaspard ended up involved was because of Leliana's inquiries that led to him inviting them to the peace talks in Hilamshiral.

The only thing left to question was whether or not it was one of Celene's supporters turned traitor, or actually Gaspard trying to frame his cousin the entire time. This was to be left up to the Spymaster to discover, and they planned to leave her to it, and not interfere, as espionage was her area after all. Certainly not Cullen's, nor anyone else. Then it would be up to Josephine to smooth things over diplomatically with all parties involved.

But in between those conversations to be had about their eventful–or decidedly uneventful–night in Val Chevin, there was blissful silence, and only the occasional run-ins with roadside bandits, or stray beasts.

Cullen was grateful for that. The silence was easier on his nerves, gave him time to think, was preferable to laughter or inappropriate comments, and the roadside obstructions made him feel somewhat normal again.

When they reached the towering fortress in the Frostbacks, were greeted by familiar faces, unpacked and settled in, there was talk all over of the curious trip to Val Chevin. Josephine was sure to mention how they might expect a letter from the Comte in due time, thanking them for attending his party, but also finding some excuse to back out of their arrangement. It made for an interesting discussion in the War Room at least.

They'd finally gotten Cassandra to explain to them just what that agent had been whispering to her at the party that had her blushing and giggling like a little girl the whole night. Apparently, the young man, who was well aware of Cassandra's disdain for such parties, was mocking Orlesian accents and making fun of their clothes, to help her overcome her anxiety, and also flirted with her some of the night.

He was very sweet, she said, and though she knew it was probably just an act, and the young man was just one of Leliana's spies after all, still she treasured every minute of it. Though some time later, in the War Room, Leliana corrected Cassandra's assumption that it was just an act when she spoke to Cullen and Josephine about it. Apparently the boy had a serious soft spot for the Seeker, and Leliana had to reprimand him for such behavior.

"Oh no, Lely," Josephine had lamented. "You didn't punish him just for flirting with the Seeker, did you?"

"He had a job to do," Leliana defended. "And it was not to flirt with the Seeker, Josie."

"Do you know I have never seen Cassandra smile so much like that before?" Josephine asked. "It was sweet, and rather romantic, but you would deny them that happiness?"

Cullen rolled his eyes and sighed.

There were other things to discuss during the meeting in regards to Val Chevin, as well as matters they'd neglected in their absence, but after that, the party had pretty well been forgotten, and things returned to somewhat normal for everyone. Well, almost everyone. Things were still fairly hectic with their leader around and about. The Inquisitor was taking a much needed holiday before she would embark for Emprise Du Lion.

Which meant she would be at Skyhold to burst into Cullen's office at all hours of the day and night to terrorize him.

But when she wasn't pestering him, it was easy for Cullen to lose himself in his work, especially now that he had those potions Dorian purchased in Val Royeaux to quell his headaches. Rylen had been left in charge in his absence, and ran a 'fairly tight ship', as the Starkhaven native worded it. Though it was troublesome deciphering Rylen's chicken scratch handwriting when reading his reports, still they were detailed and accurate.

He threw himself into War Room meetings, buried himself up to his eyeballs in reports regarding troop movements and supply lines, operations discussed over the War Table, and his hunt for Samson via the Templar's Red Lyrium supply. And he didn't even think about Lyrium, hardly at all. Without the headaches and the tremors, there was nothing to dwell on, and work became...feasible. Surprisingly so.

But all day long he would feel like work was the distraction from something, rather than the thing he always needed a distraction from. It was an excuse of some kind, really, the thing he needed to do in order to keep from doing something else. And when he had meals in the Great Hall with Dorian and other members of the Inquisition, or found time to play chess in the garden, he was reminded of just what it was he was attempting to ignore.

But at night, when he was alone, lying in the loft above his office, staring at the stars peeking through the hole in the roof, he could no longer ignore it, and even the book he'd taken to reading was of little help. He'd flip it closed and set it aside, then just stare at the ceiling while he lay there, thinking about it. Turning it over and over in his mind, agonizing over every little detail, until he was ready to tear his hair out.

The feel of Dorian's mouth on his, making his groin ache, impossibly hard at the thought.

In the safety and privacy of his quarters, with only the stars to witness, did he finally allow himself to muse upon that kiss and its meaning. Only then did he allow himself to imagine it, explore its implications, and what might've happened, had that overeager Comtesse not been in the room, had it only been the two of them, with no interruption. Thinking that maybe if she hadn't been there...he might've begged for more.

It might've only ended at the kiss though. Cullen wasn't entirely sure he would be interested in sex with Dorian. He wasn't certain that was something he would find pleasurable. But Maker, that kiss, if only he could replicate the feeling. It felt so foreign, and so utterly forbidden, the way his tongue darted into Cullen's mouth, twisting him into impossible knots, so abruptly sparking desire that it almost hurt.

It hurt then too, as he lay awake in thought of it, causing him to roll over and groan into his pillow, thrust his aching cock into the mattress, hoping at first that the pestering thought would just go away, but upon realizing it wouldn't, and would only get worse, he finally gave in and reached beneath the covers, into his trousers, chasing his release. Every night this had occurred since leaving Val Chevin, he'd be plagued with these thoughts.

But while he should've felt guilty for giving in to such urges, when he knew he didn't deserve such bliss, yet he did it anyway. And Maker, was it ever so blissful. With his withdrawal symptoms temporarily subdued he was able to enjoy it much more thoroughly than before. For months, any amount of pleasure obtained was hard earned and quickly replaced by a raging headache afterwards from all the exertion.

Not with Dorian's elixirs, however, and instead of laying in a pool of sweat caused by massive amounts of pain, he lay in absolute wonder, staring hazily up at the night sky, riding the high of his orgasm still, breathing contentedly, slowly slipping into a deep slumber. Also something he'd not accomplished in months. But there was one problem still, one obstacle the miracle potions couldn't overcome.

They did absolutely nothing to stop the nightmares that awaited still.

But Dorian, unlike Cullen, held no shame in pleasuring himself in his quarters to the image of the Commander, only lately instead of imagined scenarios playing out in his head, he had something real to envision that spurred him. The memory of a hesitant first–and only–kiss, though instead of it taking place while a squawking Comtesse hung in the background, he imagined it took place in Dorian's guest room that night at the Comte's estate.

How he wished the night would've ended. Cullen sitting cross-legged on the bed with him of course, wine bottle poised above his lips, smirk tugging at the corner, amber eyes glittering in the fire light that cast a delicious glow on the Commander's skin. Leaning in, taking the bottle from his hand, and instead drinking from that gorgeous mouth of his. The hesitance at first, until the kiss deepens and sparks something that lay dormant in Cullen.

Chess pieces forgotten and breathless curses so blasphemous it would make even the most unholy of women faint at the sound.

Strong hands that had been anchored at his hips slowly moving up until they wrapped around his waist and pulled him under. Drowning in the sensation of it. Or, more or less, the imagined sensation of it. But at least sex with Cullen was easier to picture. Once Dorian found release, and could bring himself to move in order to clean up, he returned to his bed and lay there for quite some time, leaning against the headboard, staring at the wall.

He should feel satisfied right now, if the problem was simply sexual frustration. But it wasn't. And it certainly wasn't the company of another man he wanted at the moment. If so, he could simply mill about the Herald's Rest, find some plucky little soldier to drag to his quarters and defile. Or even pull the Iron Bull aside and discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement. But that wasn't what he wanted either. And yet, he felt hollow.

With no one around to see it, and therefore no one to impress, Dorian gracelessly ran fingers through his scalp, mussing up his hair in the process, then smeared a hand across his face. He should feel ecstatic, really. With no one next to him to fuss over, he was not responsible for another's well being, whether physical or emotional, and didn't have to worry about the complications of such, much less expend the effort of pleasing another.

And nothing had changed between him and Cullen, insofar, only that Cullen seemed a bit more tense than usual, but no doubt it was because of Inquisitor Lavellan's presence at Skyhold, and stress from work piling up. But he still graced Dorian with his presence, and now that they knew where they stood with one another, now that it was all water under the bridge, Dorian could exhale a little.

He had everything he wanted here.

People that challenged him on an intellectual level, mages to taunt and antagonize whenever he so much as mentioned the vast differences between southern Circles and northern academia, but also mages that found his practices and theories useful and beneficial to their research. Templars such as Lysette, and Rylen on occasion, when he wasn't abroad, that were open to discussing defense against magic.

He almost always had someone to talk to at the Herald's Rest, and though he would catch a lot of stares from onlookers, those that didn't know him personally, much less call him by name, there were many like Varric that always invited him to sit and offered to deal him in if they were playing cards, or simply regale him with the latest gossip. He had plenty of people to argue with as well, plenty of people to torment to his heart's content.

And he had a cause to fight for. He had a reason to exist, a purpose, that was his own, and nothing concocted by his father or any other that might use him as a tool, a means for their success. He had Josephine to sip wine and discuss fashion, with Leliana occasionally leaving her drafty loft to join them in discussion and entertain with stories of her days during the Blight, or her time spent in Orlais. Her obsession with shoes, even.

He had Cassandra flitting in and out of the library, discussing literature, ever since the incident involving that ghastly novel Swords & Shields. She may have a soft spot for easily the worst book ever written, but she also had a fine taste in poetry and prose. As well as unlike many others, though she had little tact in an argument, Cassandra more than made up for it by her refreshing honesty and conviction. As well as Cullen did too.

He may have blushed and stammered, but he never minced words.

 _Cullen_...Maker, he was the whole package.

He was almost always direct, and had little room for games other than those he played in the garden.

Though he did like to taunt, and gloat, same as Dorian whenever they played. And while he was a masterful strategist, he had no care for cloak and dagger politics and nothing to hide. Mostly. But though Dorian didn't have a care to discuss anything combat related, still he listened, because Cullen had a way of speaking that made Dorian's whole world just fall away and cease to exist.

And Cullen listened. When they talked, he always gave Dorian his undivided attention, unless he was feeling ill, had a headache, or had a problem with work. But even so, Dorian didn't have to wonder what was bothering Cullen, or try to pick apart his words and facial expressions to discern what he was thinking about. Because Cullen would just say so. And while it still shocked Dorian sometimes, it was also a much needed reprieve.

Especially after spending so many years having to stay guarded, and step carefully around others who were equally as guarded as him. People with motives, people with price tags. Cullen was no such person. Cullen offered his friendship freely, with nothing expected in return. Cullen was open. Cullen was as genuine as a man could get. As well as he was perpetually selfless still, and terminally good looking.

But of course he wasn't perfect, Dorian did finally find some of those flaws he'd been searching for, but they didn't frighten him away. Granted, there were certain things he didn't like discussing, certain subjects that made him uncomfortable, but even if they did, he would say so, and not leave Dorian wondering where he stood with the man. Few others ever gave him that courtesy. And fewer still respected Dorian's privacy.

Yes, it seemed Dorian had everything he could ask for out of his current situation, in various forms, and various people.

But there was still one thing that was missing.

And there was a knock on his door just then, bringing him out of his thoughts, causing him to reflexively run fingers through his hair, smoothing it in place before he rose from his bed, pulled his trousers on, and answered the door. At best it might've been Cullen coming to his chamber to confess his secret adoration, though that was just wishful thinking. At worst, he was expecting it to be the Inquisitor or the barefoot apostate coming to antagonize him.

He didn't expect Leliana in the corridor, clutching a letter. Blue eyes met his, and her expression was a solemn one. Not cold and distant, per usual, but melancholy. Morose might be the better word. Caught by surprise he just stood there while wordlessly she handed him the parchment, and he stared down at it. Familiar filigree, familiar wax seal, and his heart thumped. Slowly he took it into his hand, then glanced up at Leliana.

"I'm sorry, Dorian," she said, and walked away, leaving him standing there with the letter, slowly closing the door as he stared at it.

Time stopped for that moment.

He didn't want to open it, he knew what it would say. He'd been expecting it, though he didn't think it would be this soon. But there it was in his hand, the very thing he'd dreaded, and with his mind already in turmoil, it was the very last thing he needed to hear right now. He was transfixed, feet slowly dragging him across the floor towards the fireplace as he stared at it, pulse racing as he reached to break the seal.

Unfurling the parchment, his chest tightened, and there they were, the words he'd known would be written just so.

_'...In regards to Ser Felix Alexius, we regret to inform you of his passing...'_

There were other things in the letter, but his breath was caught at those words. Everything came crashing down in that instant, like a slow tidal wave had been building up, standing at its full height, and then suddenly dropped. When it finally sunk in, Dorian broke. No matter the rationalizing, no matter the reasoning, no matter how much he might've told himself it was going to happen, nothing could stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks.

Felix was gone, and with him, House Alexius, and any fondness he had left of home.

Somehow he'd made it to his desk and sat in a rustic wooden chair, flopping the letter down before him, sobs wracking his body with every heartbreaking thought. And only to make matters worse, there on the desk before him was a half written letter to Felix that he'd never sent. _'Dear Felix, you will never guess what happened to me the other day. It was the funniest thing! You see, Commander Cullen and I were invited to-'_

And that was where he had stopped. He remembered he cursed at how easily he was about to spill his and Cullen's shared secret to Felix, then thought better of it. He'd planned to rewrite the letter but never made the time, and now Felix would never read any of his letters when he was finally able to send them. There was no point now, and in an emotion fueled rage, Dorian smacked the parchment from the desk.

Papers fluttered to the floor, along with his convictions.

He always thought he would have more time. More time to convince Ellana not to execute Gereon, more time with the man in his cell before he was dragged to the courtyard and his head severed by the Inquisitor's "righteous" blade. More time to write letters to Felix, more time to see him when he returned to the Imperium. More time to enjoy what he had when he had it, the closeness of a friend, the love of a brother.

But he'd already learned his lesson about messing with time.

And though he might've prevented one terrible future in Redcliffe from ever coming into being, there were simply some twists in the plot that could never be rewritten.

Some things were always destined to come to fruition.

He slumped at his desk, hearing Felix in his mind, saying, _Bloody Void, Dorian. What are you crying for? I already told you, there are worse things than dying. Just be happy I'm at peace._

"But, damn you Felix, I can't!" he sobbed aloud. "Maker, I can't do this!"

_You have to, Dorian._

And when he'd sufficiently bawled his eyes out over the whole thing, and his face had become a wretched mess of red and raw, he wiped his eyes and slowly started to pick up the mess at his feet. And resolved to slowly, bit by painstaking bit, pick back up the pieces of his life and carry on. Yes, he wouldn't want Dorian to dwell on it, only make the most of life while he could. He would want him to think of the good things, not dwell on the negative.

Felix may not, but Dorian still had his life ahead of him. Dorian could still accomplish something, make something of all this. He had to keep going.

And Dorian had much to live for. Much to wake up every day and enjoy still. Much to fight for, much to sacrifice the finery of better living for. Much to see and learn, much to experience. He may not have a family that accepted him, or a lover by his side, but he had plenty of people to care for, and depend on, as much as they depended on him. He had so much that just felt... _right_ , whereas in the past it always felt off-kilter.

He had so much to be thankful for.

Except for one thing. One thing was missing still, and right now he needed it.

Eventually he stoked the fire, adding more logs and breathing a little more life into it with a touch of magic, then he crawled back in bed and burrowed under the covers, hiding his head beneath the pillow. He tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and eventually the crying started again. No matter what he did, he couldn't stop his heart from breaking as he lay there, sobbing into his pillow, pounding it with his fist.

It was all he wanted. Just that one thing. The one thing he couldn't have at the moment.

For that hallow space next to him to be filled with a person that loved him, and that person just holding him, telling him it would be alright.

And somewhere beyond where he lay helpless, so did another, equally distraught.

Up in the watchtower by the gate, above the office, in the loft, Cullen had woken from another nightmare, breathless and shaking, tears still in his eyes. Then immediately coming down with the worst pain he'd yet to feel insofar, and he sobbed relentlessly through the pain, the memories fresh in his mind still, all the worst horrors he could ever have imagined brought to life in that dream.

No matter what he did, they would never leave him. Always would they be by his side.

"Maker, have mercy," he begged, pleading over and over for something that never came that night, and Andraste preserve him how he wished he would've died that day in Kinloch, rather than live through this.

But death was too easy, wasn't it?

Yes, death was far too easy. And the Maker wasn't done with him yet.

He lay there for hours, sobbing, shaking, in agony, with no idea where to go or who to turn to, if anyone he could trust were still awake, and even so, what would he do? How could he possibly ask for what he wanted when the very thing he wanted was far more than what he deserved, far beyond the obtainable. But it was so simple of a want. And he felt so foolish for how desperately he craved it. So weak, so helpless, so utterly inept.

So very unlike the man he wanted to be, and very much like the man he had been all those years ago.

But instead of in a magical prison, he was in a loft, sobbing into his pillow.

Just wishing someone would come save him. Wrap their arms around him and just tell him it would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I decided the letter regarding Felix needed to be more of an arc than what it was in the game, and maybe have a little more angst behind closed doors. I appreciate Felix as a character, so hopefully this won't stray too far from canon. Or could still be interpreted as canon.


	7. Intervention

Cullen didn't leave his office.

Not even for morning drills. He had the first runner that burst through the door send a note to Leliana requesting he be absent from war meetings and have any reports delivered to him at his desk instead. Then he told the lad to inform Rylen to start training exercises without him. He was missing at breakfast as well. When his second in command was delivered the message, immediately he headed for the watchtower.

Only to be told Cullen was just feeling a bit under the weather, and if there were any emergencies, to notify him immediately, but otherwise, he requested he be left alone. After the first meeting in the War Room for the day had been called, however, and the Inquisitor was made aware of Cullen's absence, it was her turn to march to his tower and barge in unexpectedly, all but demanding to know what was the matter.

It was all the man could do to maintain somewhat composed in her presence, knowing the second he showed any sign of weakness, those words would fall from her lips. But he knew he could do this. He just had to get through the day, and the only way to do it was by dismissing her. "I'm fine, I'm just feeling a bit under the weather," he tried, and but of course that only made her jump to that one single conclusion.

"Creators, it's the Lyrium, isn't it?" she gasped, and darted toward him, making him wince at the very mention of the substance that rattled his brain even now. Two glimmering azurite eyes–eyes that were close in color to the very thing he fixated upon–passed over his form in concern. But what could she possibly do to help him in his condition? Other than fuss over him like a mother hen, of which he did not require at the moment.

"I will be fine, Inquisitor," he quickly assured, and she sighed.

"Cullen, I'm not sure if you doing this is really a good idea. Maybe we should talk to Cassandra, see what she thinks."

But with her eyes, she was saying, 'Cullen, you need to take it.'

Cullen had to catch himself, before he snapped just then, at her words. He clenched his jaw and bit back the retort that sprung to mind. Something like, 'How dare you! How dare you be so selfish as to have me chained to that life just so you don't have to have this on your conscience! Have you no faith in me?! Is this all I am to you?! Just a tool you need to fix to keep in working order?! Not a man with wants and hopes of his own?!'

But he held it in, because he knew it was just the headache talking. The pain he wished to ease. The Lyrium calling his name, driving him to ruin. She just cared, that's all, and she didn't want him to suffer. It wasn't her fault. She didn't understand.

"That won't be necessary," he managed, in regards to her suggestion that they involve the Seeker. "I'll just be taking my work here in the office for today. No need to worry."

"Alright, well, you just rest then. Is there anything you need? Are you hungry? Or thirsty? I can have the cooks whip up something for you? Or we could get a healer-"

"Please, Your Worship, don't trouble yourself," he said, watching how her lips pinched at the title. But it was hers, and hers alone, so he often reminded himself. This was his superior, hovering over him. He might compare her to a love struck teenager, but she was not a doting wife. She was the Inquisitor of Thedas, to whom he owed the address. "I will be fine. Just...if you don't mind, I would just ask for privacy, at the moment."

"Oh, yes–erm–of course," she nodded fervently.

She then swiftly backed out of the room, closing the door behind her, clearly not needed. Cullen relaxed when she was gone, forehead hitting the desk where he sat, which did nothing to soothe his pounding headache and he grimaced. The hand that had been balled into a fist to keep from shaking reached up to cradle his head, and he rocked back and forth in his chair. He jerked and tapped his foot in angst, with every new jolt of pain.

Maker, if only he'd the will to throw himself over the battlements and just get it over with. Very tempting, at any rate.

He forced himself to sit up straight in the chair and glance over reports, trying to focus on the words. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the empty potion bottles atop his bookshelf that he'd yet to dispose of. He'd taken two that morning, and even now he was still in agony. Dorian's potions had stopped working it seemed. Whatever was in them, he'd already built up a tolerance for, and they lost their effect. No sense in asking for more.

No sense in seeking out Dorian at all, really. He wasn't capable of holding conversation right now. The Altus was probably going to hate him for this, or think it was something he did, and of course he would fret over the whole thing for nothing. But it was better to avoid him than seek out his company when Cullen was without the ability to give Dorian his undivided attention. He was barely scraping through reports.

He could scarcely imagine what it would be like to try to play chess, or otherwise occupy the mage's time.

And should he snap and bark at Dorian like he almost did with Ellana? Maker, he could never live with himself.

Though part of him desperately wished Dorian would burst through the door, if only because he didn't trust himself at the moment.

But it was only a messenger, minutes after the Inquisitor left. Some time later it was one of Skyhold's pages, delivering his lunch to his office, per request. Soldiers passing through to access the battlements on patrol. And so the day would unfold, one thing after another, report after report, piling up on his desk, with only brief interludes of peace and quiet, as well as freedom to curl in on himself in his chair and wallow.

Up in the keep, Dorian was too preoccupied to notice though, that a certain member of the Inquisition hadn't left his tower, for he had his own worries to cloud his mind that day.

He could hardly concentrate long enough, much less have a care, to sit through a discussion with Enchantress Fiona about the use of the training yard for spell casting. It had been an ongoing issue between the mages that currently occupied Skyhold, and that of the former Templars and non-mages, that once more Fiona pushed upon Dorian. But unlike the times before that he'd been pulled into debates, this time he had no patience.

While it was perfectly fine to have mages in the tower fulfilling the Inquisition's need for magical research, it was another to be training mages for combat situations, as it went. But after what happened in Haven, Fiona having lost so many already in the war and then again when they were forced to fight Red Templars, Fiona had been urging not only that they boost their defenses, but that Cullen oversee knight enchantment and battlemage training.

That had led to an argument between Madame Vivienne, Grand Enchantress Fiona, and Commander Cullen about what exactly the mages should be doing for the Inquisition. Fiona insisted that she only wished to protect them, while Vivienne made the claim that she was trying to "mold children into monsters" turning them into soldiers, which would breed contempt with others, and give more cause for outsiders to fear them.

"As ignorant enough as it was to force them to fight or forfeit their lives in the first place with your coup!" had been Madame De Fer's words at one point, which had been the turning point in the debate. But Cullen was on the fence, and tried to be the voice of reason between them both. While he approved of each and every person, including the mages, having the ability to defend themselves, he suggested they focus on their research foremost.

Only those that traveled with the Inquisitor would be expected to act as combatants, though if mages wished to enlist and join his soldiers in the field, that would be solely _their_ choice, and urged that they learn to fight with mundane weapons as well, like all the rest, seeing it far more valuable of a skill against Red Templars than magic alone. Cullen wanted the mages at Skyhold to have a sanctuary, and purpose, that was their own.

Not mold them into weapons of destruction, nor lock them in cells. Though Madame De Fer seemed bent on turning Skyhold into a Circle, and expected them to act accordingly. "Maker's breath, they're people!" Cullen exclaimed at one point. "They are not your pawns! Just let them live normally how they so choose, and serve the Inquisition however they are able! And stop this bickering! The both of you!"

Commendable, but the matter was not dropped, and there was always a counter argument to be had, between Fiona and Vivienne mostly. Dorian was dragged into it because Fiona could see that he held little regard for the Loyalist, and just so happened to have ongoing chess matches with the Commander. She assumed he would be reasonable, that he would be just the person to speak to the Commander and end the argument once and for all.

Vivienne assumed he would be amenable to her case as well. But it was a petty argument at the expense of clueless apprentices with so little life experience outside their little cages, and merely a way for both women to attempt to seize control. And on that particular day, Dorian had no patience for the women, nor their words. He'd ended with, "I'll speak to the Commander about this," and left it at that, retiring to his alcove in the library.

While he remained aloof on the exterior, inside he was burning still, and tucked in his shirt was the letter regarding Felix, kept close to his heart. It would take some time, but as this was something he'd long since prepared for, instead of being an outrage, it was just a cold stone in his chest at the moment, one he couldn't seem to dislodge. He flipped through a tome he'd been meaning to read, but soon lost focus and pulled out the letter.

Now that the initial shock had worn off, he could bring himself to more carefully read the words written, and process them. But Maker if it didn't feel like just a bunch of "could haves", and "might have beens", when he read about Felix speaking of the Inquisition's deeds when he returned to Tevinter. How Felix stood tall and spoke of reform, demanding needed changes be made, and how Dorian's heart ached.

But it was a good ache. It was warm, a kindness, and just left him feeling tired, rather than emotionally stunted. Though it would still take some time to get used to this new hole punched in his heart. But these were things that Dorian and Felix spoke of, often, and while he still had the chance, Felix stood on the Senate floor, and spoke his peace. But Dorian could hear Felix's voice in his mind saying, "Now it's your turn, Dorian."

He was proud of Felix, but he wondered if there was a point. He had far more success working with the Inquisition to stamp out the Venatori than he would ever have if he marched home and stood behind a podium before the Magisterium. It seemed like one might have as much of a chance at success with reforming Tevinter as Cullen would have a chance at getting Fiona and Vivienne to be on the same side of things.

A laughable thought.

But thinking of that only made him think of Cullen just then, and that warm, aching nostalgia was suddenly replaced by a twinge in his stomach.

And suddenly he remembered that he hadn't seen Cullen at all today.

On the top floor of the tower, amid squawking ravens, did Sister Leliana hover at her desk, hood pulled over her head that did well to cover the uncertainty in her gaze. She'd just finished reading a report in regards to a matter investigated by one of her agents in Montfort, then making a note of it before signing off on the report, and now she leaned against the desk, for all of the five minutes she could spare, breathing a sigh, debating her options.

The moment she read the note from Cullen that morning, written in shaky writing, saying he would not be attending meetings, she knew something was terribly wrong, but debated on how to best approach the issue still, without upsetting the man.

She knew of Cullen's withdrawal before the Seeker did. How could she not know? To the Nightingale, his struggle was so blatantly obvious it was borderline absurd to think it was ever a secret, but she had to remind herself that attention to details was part of her job, and not many would be so attentive as she to notice. But she had seen the differences between a man taking Lyrium, and a man not taking Lyrium before.

And she also knew of Cullen's time spent in Kinloch, the death of his parents during the Blight, the siblings in South Reach he'd maintained a distance from, and the events in Kirkwall. Haven added to that recently. Cullen was a very dependable man, but he was also very broken still, and most were oblivious to it. In reality, it was far more complex than Varric's book ever made it out to be.

And while one might be prompted to read where Cullen suddenly and unexpectedly stood up to Meredith in Kirkwall when he saw her corruption firsthand, and then might just happen to see Commander Rutherford stand, sword and shield in hand, and fight side by side with mages at Haven, against the evils of Thedas, but to truly know the man was to know the definition of, "It's complicated."

But as Cullen had never spoken to her directly of such matters, such matters were never discussed. Leliana scoffed in thought of it. If people only knew how many things she could use against them, but didn't, on a daily basis.

Then she sighed. She would not approach Cullen directly, but someone must. Someone who cared enough to intervene, but also to tread lightly. He needed help, not hindrance of any kind, in such a vulnerable state. Not Cassandra. Cassandra would only observe and as a last resort would she remove Cullen from the picture and have him replaced. Cullen didn't need to be replaced. Cullen needed to be cared for.

Not Ellana. Maker help them all, Ellana had been against him going off Lyrium from the start, and was ready to put him back on it if he so much as showed one ounce of discomfort. Even though Cullen had explained that not only would he eventually lose his mind to Lyrium, but that he no longer wished to be part of that life. He'd tried the best he could to make her understand. But Ellana was rather fond of bandaging a broken limb before resetting the bone, as it were.

She took shortcuts to amend a situation quickly, because it was easier. Effective and necessary in some cases–in the heat of battle, for example–but not this one.

And to truly foster understanding, Cullen would've had to divulge every part of himself, everything he'd been through, and frankly, in the Nightingale's opinion, it was nobody's damned business. Not even hers. But Leliana couldn't watch him suffer any longer. She couldn't watch him unmake himself, try to kill himself, in the process. She'd lost too many people already, and the Inquisition needed him. They all needed him.

But Cullen suffered alone, for whatever reason the Nightingale could only guess.

There was a third option. March over to his tower and demand he at least see a healer about his affliction, in the hopes that maybe they might at least alleviate the symptoms so he could function, have more quality of life, and more peace of mind. It would make the Lyrium easier to resist if there were no side effects to make him pine for it. But she was not about to worsen the situation by making Cullen aware of what she knew about him.

All that would accomplish was make him feel even more uncomfortable, likely make him more withdrawn.

But someone had to do something. She wouldn't stand for this. Not when he was now to the point of locking himself up in his office.

From her desk on the top floor, she faintly heard a voice wafting upstairs, from the lower tier, Dorian saying to Fiona and Vivienne, "I'll speak to the Commander about this." Leliana left her perch to peer down and see Dorian. Seeming rather exhausted of whatever argument, and after a slight nod of the head, she watched him walk away from the women, across the circular path, around to the other side, directly below her, and beyond sight.

But with the quiet of the tower that afternoon, she could still hear him, flopping down in his cushioned chair, clearing his throat, then flipping through a book before sighing.

In that moment, Leliana had her answer, knew what must be done, and made to leave her office.

Minutes later, Dorian was still at his seat, letter in hand but no longer focused on the paper. Merely stared straight ahead, rubbing his chin, lost in thought. He heard footfall, though quiet footfall, with the graced and balanced feet of a rogue, and side-eyed a pair of boots stopping short of the chair. Eyes traveled upward to Leliana's face that sported a frown, the usual kind this time, though it still seemed somewhat... _changed_ , somehow.

Blue eyes flickered over him.

"Thank you, for this," he said to her, thumbing the parchment, and she nodded once, more or less in acknowledgment. He would liked to have slapped himself–who says thank you for handing them a condolence letter?–but he really didn't know what else to say. He was just grateful she didn't say anything, much less, Maker forbid, say, 'You're welcome.' No, not a word about it. Just stared for a moment.

"Was there something you needed, Spymaster?"

"Cullen hasn't left his office," she clipped. He quirked a brow.

"Oh, well that would explain why I haven't seen him," he chirped. Wondering what she was driving at.

"Yes, he's been there since this morning," she elaborated. "He's taken his meals there too... _and_ he missed a meeting in the War Room."

This time Dorian allowed the confusion to show, leaning his head and furrowing his brow. "The Commander _never_ misses those," he mused.

"No, not a one," she said. Maker, something was wrong, wasn't it? "Didn't you have something you wanted to speak to him about?" she asked.

"I...Yes, yes I did, actually," he answered, and rose from his seat. He would've prompted Leliana for an explanation, but she was already walking away, back toward the stairwell and up to her office. What a strange woman. But Dorian didn't dwell on that for long, because Cullen _never_ missed a meeting in the War Room. On pain of death he would still muster the will to tolerate the Inquisitor's envious glances and suggestive remarks.

Because Cullen Rutherford was _never_ lax in his duties.

And Dorian was already on his way out of the hall, close to taking the stairs two at a time on the way down, but managed to refrain from doing so, keeping his steps evenly paced. With clear direction he made a straight line across the foyer, passing a distracted Solas, who was bent over the table and only looked up when Dorian was already retreating, passing through the doorway, making his exit.

Out of the Keep and into the biting wind he went, marching across the bridge that led to the watchtower, where Cullen was tucked inside. He stopped at the door and swallowed thickly, taking a moment to catch his breath, as the sour walk had stolen it. Then he knocked, thrice, softly on the door. "Commander?" he called, and didn't hear anything at first, but before he could call again, Cullen answered.

The Commander had been sitting with his head in his hands, having lost all will to read, his eyes hurt too badly–everything hurt really–and when he heard the knock he was confused at first. Oh, that was right, there _was_ someone at Skyhold that knocked, and Cullen's heart pounded because he knew who that must be. Maker, why was Dorian coming to see him? Should he let him in? Should he allow the man to see him like this?

"E-enter," he stuttered, and lifted his head to see Dorian entering, sliding inside then shutting the door behind him with a soft click. Dorian looked him over, likely noticing everything from his disheveled hair, where he'd been massaging his scalp, hoping for comfort, to his clammy forehead and dark ringed eyes, due to lack of proper sleep. He rubbed his temples still, saying, "What can I do for you, Ser Pavus?"

Oh, but Cullen wouldn't want Dorian to answer that truthfully. And he might've remarked on that, if not for noticing how the Commander looked like complete and utter shit right then. He was trying to hide it though, running gloved fingers through his hair, smoothing it back in place before straightening in his seat. Leaning heavily on the arm rest though. Absently Dorian thumbed the ring on his finger, spinning the trinket as he stared.

"Fiona tried to drag me into another one of her standoffs with Vivienne," he said, and Cullen palmed his face. "I was asked to speak to you on the matter."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" he snapped, smacking a tray from his desk, and Dorian flinched. Something was _definitely_ wrong. Cullen _never_ spoke like this. "This is _not_ the Circle of Magi, and I am _not_ their Knight-Commander! I am _not_ here to play Templar with them!" He breathed heavily for a moment, and the cursed again. "Fuck," he smeared a hand across his face, "It was Ellana's brilliant idea to ally with them, have her handle it."

Dorian swallowed, admittedly a bit nervous about this sudden outburst. His eyes followed the trail of items scattered on the floor. Of course Cullen had raised his voice before, but not in this manner, and certainly not to rage in such a way. He was never so dissonant. He commanded an army, but he always maintained far more reserved than this. Dorian took a chance, and a tentative step forward.

"Our resident sleuth informed me you've been hiding in here since this morning," he said as he approached. Cullen sighed in response, as if he were expecting this, somehow.

Which he was. Cullen knew he wouldn't get away with having just _one_ day to himself with no questions from anyone. And of course Dorian would ask. Part of him wanted to confess everything right then and there, but he tensed in thought of Dorian's response.

"I've been...a little under the weather today," he said.

"I see," was Dorian's quip. "You don't look well at all."

"No, I...I'll be fine," he said, rather reflexively at this point, and in response, Dorian nodded a little, still staring at Cullen, hazel eyes making their assessment of him.

"Those pesky headaches, is it?" he asked, and Cullen blinked. Dorian's gaze made its way to the empty potion bottles on the shelf, briefly, before coming back to him. "Potions aren't working?"

Cullen shook his head. "I...must've built up a tolerance for them," he said.

"Hmm," Dorian hummed.

He leaned on the desk, placing both palms flat on the surface.

"What...causes these headaches, exactly?" he asked carefully, and Cullen dropped his eyes to his lap. A flash of guilt forming in his features. And he gave no answer.

"Commander?"

No answer still.

Dorian slowly stepped around the desk, making Cullen tense at his approach.

"Cullen, what-"

"I stopped taking Lyrium," he blurted, and Dorian froze.

Then his eyes flew wide open. "Kaffas! Cullen have you gone completely mad?!"

And it was all down hill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _"Maker's breath, they're people!" Cullen exclaimed at one point._  
> 
> 
> My, Cullen has certainly changed in the last four years, hasn't he? If Hawke could hear him now. 


	8. Landslide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA on updates should be daily now, bare minimum, at the very least. I'm already up to chapter 15 in rough draft, so posting is based on how thoroughly I need to edit beforehand, and how quickly I can get to work on that. So, daily updates, for your sakes, so there's some consistency.

"Maker, Dorian, please don't shout," Cullen whined, hissing as another wave of pain washed over him, but even so, Dorian proceeded to lose it on the man, shocked and appalled that instant. But he didn't shout again at least, sparing the Commander further pain from the sensitivity to sound. This was what Cullen feared, in a nutshell. Dorian overreacting. Maker, he never should've blurted it out like that.

But it had to come out eventually. And it was near impossible to lie to Dorian. As well as much as he would like to deny it, he felt like maybe Dorian _needed_ to know Cullen stopped taking Lyrium. It would keep him from unwittingly jumping to any conclusions. And he'd be lying if he didn't at least half admit that he was tired of bottling it all up.

"Before you say anything," Cullen interjected, when Dorian opened his mouth, "I stopped taking it months ago, and I'm perfectly fine-"

"Perfectly fine?! What sort of fool do you take me for?! You are anything but fine, Commander, even an imbecile can see you're suffering!"

And Dorian was seething. Struggling to keep calm, in light of this revelation, and he knew the cause. He'd only just learned about Felix's fate, and now to hear Cullen was withdrawing from Lyrium? It was more than the Altus could bear, and it almost stunned him when he realized just how much this affected him. He took a steady breath, folding his arms, steeling himself. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, and Cullen let out a sigh.

"I didn't want to cause any fuss," he said, and Dorian's lip twitched. "There's no need for concern. I've been handling it, just fine, it's just...just a headache hear or there, mostly, and the potions were quite a relief, but...." He sighed again, massaging his temple. "Cassandra was well aware of my decision to stop taking it, and has seen no fault with doing so. The Inquisitor knows as well, I told her I would defer to Cassandra's judgment on the matter."

"Well no wonder you've been so dodgy with the girl. And what does Ellana think of this decision?" Dorian couldn't help but ask, and Cullen grimaced a little.

"She thinks I should be taking it," he said. "I...It's all I can do to convince her I'm handling my withdrawal. But I'm worried that at the first sign of weakness she'll...she'll order me to take Lyrium, and I will forever be chained to it, Dorian, and I don't want to be. I'm no longer a Templar, and I don't want that life anymore. I will get through this, I just...there are some days it becomes too much."

Dorian resisted the urge to scoff, loudly. Leave it to Ellana Lavellan to jump to the worst conclusion, or make the worst possible decision, in the mage's opinion. Especially when it came to Cullen Rutherford. Maker's breath, the little tart was such a twit, and of course she would be ignorant enough to assume Cullen should keep taking Lyrium at this tentative stage. Of course he would be forced to hide his affliction.

And but of course the Commander would not argue the woman, for he respected her leadership.

There were so many things to say in regards to the woman that Dorian dare not say, for if he did, there would be no taking it back. He flexed his jaw a little.

"Then you should be seeing a healer, Commander, not locking yourself in this tower," Dorian chided. "If you've survived this long, you obviously have a chance to do away with the habit altogether. A very good chance, I might add. And I agree that taking it again after so much time without it would be devastating, but honestly, Commander, you should be getting _treatment_ for a condition such as this. You should be in the infirmary."

"I'm fine-"

"Don't!" Dorian snapped, finally losing his calm once more. "If you were perfectly fine, you would never have missed a meeting with Ellana and the other advisers. But at least now I see why you've been avoiding me."

"It hasn't killed me yet, Dorian."

"Maybe so, but the stress will," Dorian fired back, closing the space between them to put his hand on Cullen's forehead. Cullen glanced away, loath to be touched at the moment. "You're feverish. What other symptoms have you experienced?"

Cullen grumbled under his breath in frustration. This was the last thing he needed right now, was for anyone to fuss over him. This was exactly what he'd been hoping to avoid, especially in said company, after everything that happened between the two of them in Val Chevin. But when he shied away, Dorian pulled him back, cupping both cheeks, checking over his skin, his eyes. "What are you doing?" Cullen asked.

"Checking for residual side effects," he mumbled right before he went so far as to lift an eyelid, examining Cullen's pupils. "I've heard of it ranging anywhere from pain and fatigue to vomiting and exhaustion akin to heat sickness. What other effects have you been feeling? Tremors? Night sweats? Loss of appetite?" Cullen absently nodded to all of the above. "Well, no wonder the potions I gave you stopped working."

"Dorian, I'm fine, truly-"

"Bloody Void you are," he sneered. "The potions I gave you might've staved off a tension headache at best, but this is a chronic condition, Cullen. The sort that needs constant supervision, and more than masking the symptoms, you need treatment! You need a healer for this, not to sit and wallow in your room, waiting for it to go away! It's not going to do that! You need to be in the infirmary! You'll kill yourself sitting here, Cullen!"

His anger quickly turned to shock and dismay.

"Maker's breath, Cullen...are you _trying_ to kill yourself?" he gasped.

"No, I'm just...I don't need nor want any attention with this," Cullen confessed. "It's a private matter. And rather personal. I already have the Inquisitor breathing down my neck. And I can't neglect my duties any more than I have. I don't expect you to understand, and I don't need this now."

"Oh really? So tell me, what was your contingency plan, should you suddenly pass out from exhaustion or succumb to the pain then, hmm?"

"I spoke with Cassandra about this weeks ago, and if I should fail in my duties, she will elect a suitable replacement. I recommended Rylen. The Inquisitor is also aware. But her answer is to make me take Lyrium. But, Maker, Dorian, I don't want that! I'm not a Templar any longer! I don't want to _be_ a Templar any longer, and I don't want to succumb to the madness that waits if I lose my mind to it! I don't want to be chained to Order, or to that...I don't want that!"

Dorian sighed. The poor man was on the verge of tears he was so vehement about not taking Lyrium. This was very personal to him, it wasn't hard to see that.

To Dorian, some of what Cullen said sounded rather nonsensical, but most of it made sense. He'd seen the effects Lyrium had on non-mages, knew of the risks, the damage, and was well aware of what would be left for a man that was cut off from the Order, cut off from Lyrium when they no longer served the southern Chantry's use. If Cullen had no intentions of serving the Templars, now or in the future, he could see why he would prefer death.

Which was what would happen to Cullen if he continued this way, allowing himself to go without treatment when the pain flared up.

But what he didn't understand is why Cullen would risk so much right now when he knew how much he was needed? "So you're answer is to suffer, and if you can't handle it, simply be replaced?" he asked, disbelieving of the notion. He clicked his tongue rather than fire off another insult or insinuation. "Fine, have it your way, but will you at least allow me to treat you, if you won't go to the infirmary?"

"No, if I can't do this on my own, than I'd just assume speak to Cassandra. I'll just be replaced."

"Nonsense. If the shield breaks, Cullen, you don't replace the soldier, you replace the shield," he said. Cullen sighed and just stared up at him for a moment, debating on that. He couldn't say how grateful he was to hear that someone in this bloody castle cared for his wants, but…There was so much Cullen could tell him that might make him understand why he needed to do this, why he asked this of himself, and why he didn't want help.

But he was not ready for that conversation.

"I understand," he said. "But I have my reasons for doing this, and you needn't concern yourself with them."

"I needn't concern myself?! You really think I'm just to stand idly by while you die from this?! If you don't get treated properly for your condition, the stress of it will kill you, Cullen. You need more than just a few tonics to mask the pain. Why on earth are you making this so difficult for yourself?" Cullen didn't answer that, and damn it, Dorian was livid. He'd already lost Felix, he was not about to lose Cullen as well. "Just tell me what-"

"I wanted to do this on my own," Cullen growled.

"Well, too bad," Dorian told him. "I'm no healer, but I've a better chance at helping you than anyone. So I will do what I can, and you will just get over it. Because if you don't let me intervene, Cullen, so help me Maker, I swear I will go to the Inquisitor-"

"No!" Cullen exclaimed. "Please, just...don't...I'll..." He closed his eyes and nodded in compliance. Finally. "I'll do it...whatever you think will help. I'll do it. Just don't tell Ellana. Please." The look of hurt and betrayal on the Commander's face at how easily Dorian threatened to drag Ellana into it was unbearable. But Dorian smirked satisfactorily, and without realizing, he stroked the Commander's hair affectionately.

"That's better. I've already some ideas of where to start. Like I said, I'm no healer, but I do know several techniques that work _wonders_ to relieve tension."

" _Dorian_ ," he growled.

"I meant with magic!" he scoffed, and Cullen gave him a pointed look. "I swear I meant magic."

It was then that Dorian realized he'd been holding Cullen's face in his hands the entire time they spoke, as he'd been checking Cullen over, and just...stayed that way, distracted with the argument at hand, but now very much aware, and let his hands fall to his sides. A half a second later so did Cullen realize this and looked away, clearing his throat, rubbing his neck in that silly way he did when he was nervous. Dorian swallowed.

Well, that was awkward.

"Did...didn't you have something you wished to discuss?" Cullen asked. "You, uh, you were saying something about Fiona."

Dorian waved it off as he moved to lean against the desk, folding his arms once more. "Oh, that old argument? That was just an excuse to grace you with my charm and distract you with my presence for the afternoon," he cajoled, slipping back into his usual demeanor, but he didn't smile, nor did he even so much as side-eye the Commander. "I received a letter from Tevinter, regarding Felix. You remember Felix, yes?"

"Alexius' son. I remember him. How is he?"

"He's dead."

Cullen lifted his head. "Maker, Dorian, I didn't know. I-I'm so sorry."

Dorian sighed. "He was terminally ill, Commander, and on borrowed time as it were. But thank you...The Blight sickness caught up with him. It should come as no surprise, though I just didn't expect it to be now."

"Still," Cullen chewed his lip, "It cannot be easy. I lost my parents during the Blight," he then admitted, "And I was so far from them. Already a Templar, and...well, losing is terrible enough, but...receiving a letter, not getting to say goodbye..." He rubbed his neck. "Were the two of you particularly close?" he asked, shoving thoughts of his parents aside and focusing on Felix instead. Dorian nodded.

"He used to sneak me treats from the kitchen when I was working late in his father's study," Dorian told him, when he thought of the fond memory, voice adopting a little nostalgic flair. " _'Don't get into trouble on my behalf,'_ I'd tell him. _'I like trouble,'_ he'd say."

"Yes, well, you are certainly trouble, Dorian Pavus," Cullen declared with a smirk, and Dorian chuckled.

"Well, I do try, Commander." He rubbed his chin for a moment, thinking over it, before saying, "At any rate, Gereon and I may have been more akin to a teacher and student, but Felix was...the brother I would've wanted." He sighed. "Anyhow, I had only thought perhaps you and I might steal away for a game of chess. I could use the distraction. Perhaps that tribal chess you tried to teach me in Val Chevin."

"Tribal chess," Cullen huffed. "The Avvar game, you mean?" Dorian nodded. "I actually sort of like that name. It's fitting."

"Catchy, isn't it? But you have enough to distract you for the moment without my irresistible face, and it seems I have something else to occupy my time. More than chess, Commander, you need a remedy for these symptoms of yours, if you don't want Inquisitor Lavellan breathing down your neck. I can make a more potent elixir as a temporary fix. But as far as a permanent solution, I'll need more time."

"You really don't have to trouble yourself-"

"Commander," Dorian interrupted. "I already lost one friend this week. Do indulge me this once, and don't argue with me again."

Cullen snapped his mouth closed and nodded, biting back any remark he might have when he saw the emotions threatening to break through Dorian's thin mask of calm. Commander of the Inquisition or not, Cullen Rutherford ducked his chin like a scolded child at such words. Then mentally kicked himself for ever avoiding Dorian in the first place. Had he not, he might've escaped this argument altogether, much sooner.

And he might've been a better friend to Dorian when he clearly needed one at the moment.

"That's better," Dorian chirped. Then he stood to make his leave. "I'm off to speak to Elan then. I'll be back in due time," he told Cullen. Then he exited the office through a side door, shutting it quietly behind him, with barely a click to be heard. Cullen sighed when he left, the worst throes of pain actually receding throughout the conversation and he realized that maybe Dorian was right. Maybe most of it was the stress, more than the withdrawal.

And hashing out his problems with the mage did relieve some of that stress, like lifting a weight off his chest that he'd only just been made aware of existing.

But then the memory of Dorian cradling his head in his hands, being so unbearably close, made a deep blush creep over him once more, and he tensed. If it had been any other man, he would've smacked their hand away in anger and said, "Don't touch me!" But he didn't, did he? And Maker's breath, he had no idea why either. Was it just how close they'd become as friends that made him so comfortable? Was it simply that Cullen trusted Dorian implicitly?

Or was it something else?

Did he dare entertain the thought that maybe what was between them was more than friendship?

No. No, he wouldn't entertain such a thought, and pushed it from his mind. It was just his condition. It was just how starved he was for affection of some kind, from any source, and it was better to ignore it than to focus on it. Perhaps instead he should focus on the Inquisitor. He'd been ignoring his attraction to her for some time now, and perhaps that was just what sort of distraction he needed to set him straight.

Literally.

He just needed to get that kiss shared with Dorian out of his head, and take out his frustration on the source, which was Ellana, he told himself. He should just be with Ellana. The Inquisitor, though cumbersome as she may be, was where his thoughts should be focused. Exploring a relationship with her, because it made far more sense than even considering the idea that he might be attracted to Dorian.

Ellana may have been childish at times, but sometimes she was kind, and caring, and seemed most eager to be with him. Perhaps he should set aside any doubts he had and simply give it a try. Surely, if flirting with the woman didn't affect their work relationship, then neither would a kiss, would it? Just one kiss. One to replace the tantalizing memory that invaded his thoughts in the middle of the night, and kept him awake.

He smeared a hand across his face. He had so many sound reasons to avoid a relationship with Ellana, but in that moment, he was willing to throw caution to the wind for the sake of normalcy. He really was. Because, Andraste preserve him, he was tired of neglecting his wants, to the point that he fantasized about another man for lack of sufficient outlet for his frustration.

Dorian, on the other hand, was too focused on his forcibly obtained knowledge of healing herbs to have a care for anything else. While he was rather devastated to learn of Cullen's affliction, all its implications, and the danger therein–also still a bit irritated that while Cullen didn't lie to him, he still withheld the truth of it–it gave him something on which to focus his attention, and fulfilled the underlying desire to be needed.

He knocked on Cullen's door sometime later with new and improved items in tow, approaching a complacent Commander rubbing his temples still, and setting the items neatly on his desk. The mess on the floor had been tidied up once more, but otherwise Cullen was emaciated still. "This, take immediately," he instructed, handing the man a small vial. "It's the same potion as before, but stronger."

Cullen popped the cork and downed it immediately, per instruction, then Dorian gestured to the other larger bottles on the table, and opened his desk drawer, storing the items inside and out of sight as he spoke. "This should help ease the pain," he said. "And this should help with any nausea, though I don't recommend on an empty stomach." He planted a folded parchment with the items. "A list of ingredients for each, and instruction."

"Thank you," Cullen exhaled, closing his eyes. Potion kicking in already.

"There, all better, and in no time at all you'll be back to barking at recruits and whipping them into shape." Cullen nodded at that. Then he sighed.

"How can I possibly return the favor?" he asked. Dorian smirked.

"You truly don't want me answering that, Commander," he quipped, and Cullen rolled his eyes. Yes, all back to normal now, Dorian gathered. "I'll let you return to your duties. Though I would advise not straining yourself until we know how effective the potion will be. Bed rest, I would recommend, but I know better than to think you would pay any heed to anything I suggest, unless I threatened on pain of death."

Cullen chuckled. "I'll rest," he agreed. "But I do have reports piling up, so sleep will have to wait. But I promise to keep the work light. You know I don't go back on my word."

"Well, let's get you out of that armor then."

" _Dorian_."

He pursed his lips at the look Cullen gave him. "That filthy mind of yours. I meant so you could relax. Well, you're not very comfortable in it, are you?"

Cullen was about to make reply to that, but the door burst open unexpectedly, and none other than the Inquisitor stood before them. "Oh, I hope I wasn't interrupting anything," she said.

"Yes, that's why you knocked, of course," Dorian derided sweetly between his teeth. Ellana blatantly ignored the man and stepped toward the desk, eyes on Cullen, and could care less if the mage even existed.

"I was just seeing how you were feeling," she said. "I know you said you wanted to be left alone, but...I was just checking on you." Dorian would guess that she only saw him flitting in and out of Cullen's office and grew curious as to what was going on, was jealous of Dorian receiving any kind of attention from the Commander, and honestly could care less how Cullen was _actually_ feeling, but it was just a hunch.

"I'm fine, Inquisitor," Cullen told her, and she nodded. Then she just stood there, expectantly, like she was waiting for one of them to say something, or for Dorian to politely excuse himself from Cullen's company and leave, of which he did no such thing, and merely leaned against the desk. Cullen cleared his throat in the awkward silence between them. "I...had actually hoped to speak with you, Inquisitor, if you had a moment."

"That I do, Commander," she smiled. And perhaps Dorian was just seeing things, but was that a smug, satisfactory sort of smile she gave? "Dorian, if you wouldn't mind," she said, and pointed to the door. Oh but that look, yes, that look was definitely false sweetness, for sure. She'd given him that look before, and he hated that look. The look she only ever reserved for him, and no one else. _Yes, I do mind, you half-wit, thank you_ , he growled internally.

"Remember what I suggested, Commander," he said, and Cullen nodded. Then, once certain he wasn't leaving his dear and trusted friend to the Dalish wolves, he exited the Commander's office, scowling once outside, and no one could see him do so.

Inside the room, Cullen was swallowing nervously, then licking his lips.

Now that his headache was subsiding, he was more or less lethargic after dealing with so much pain, but rather relaxed, and having given it enough thought. He'd made up his mind. There was only one move to make here, and that was his next move about to be made. As smoothly as he could manage he rose from his seat, then gestured to the side entrance that lead to the section of the battlements above the lower bailey.

He started walking, slowly, one foot in front of the other, in his head reciting what he was going to say, Ellana following him out the door and onto the ramparts. Maker, this was ridiculous, wasn't it? What was he even doing? Catching the Inquisitor alone so he could seduce her, all because he couldn't get a certain mage out of his head? And with a woman ten years younger than him, who was Dalish, who was nothing like him at all.

He started to freeze up as they walked, and in his nervousness, he blurted, "It's a nice day," like an idiot.

"What?" she asked.

"It's a...Maker, I'm terrible at this," he admitted.

"I'm uh, I'm not really following here, what did you want to talk about?"

"I..." He turned to face her, and stared down into those eerie blue eyes of hers, making note of the tattoo on her face, and the way she looked so utterly confused just then. It was interesting, how dumbfounded she looked, when all this time she'd pursued him, relentlessly hounded him, as the rumor went. But now she just stood there like a fawn caught by a hunter, staring up at him. So innocently. He absently rubbed his neck.

Maker, was this truly what he should be doing right now?

"I...wanted to talk about us," he admitted. "I realize my timing is terrible, but...I, well...I do care for you, it's just...Well, I hadn't known how to address this, really, but-"

"Is it because I'm an elf?" she asked, slumping her shoulders, eyeing him almost disbelievingly.

"No!" he was quick to say. "No, I don't mind that at all, it's just...You're the Inquisitor. I...didn't think this...us...I didn't think it was possible."

"Oh! Well, if that's all it is, I'm sure it's alright, you know," she said, stepping closer, only an arm's length away. "I'm already Dalish, surrounded by a bunch of Chantry freaks, and have to hear about how blasphemous I am, I doubt people will even bat an eyelash if I'm fooling around with my Commander," she winked, then bit her lip. Maker's breath, everything within Cullen screamed for him to run away at that statement.

She might as well have told him she'd pissed on Andraste's statue at that, Maker forgive him for such abhorrent thoughts.

He prayed for strength, and resolved to forgive her for such a statement. She had every right to feel the way she did. She worked hard to protect Thedas against a great many things, but yet the world judged her for being Dalish, yes? For not being Andrastian, for not being human? And though she was young and impressionable, still she was courageous and stunningly beautiful, right? And she was _female_?

Shouldn't Cullen be too madly in love with her to have a care what she believed? Much less how she spoke of it?

Why did this have to feel so... _forced_?

He stepped closer to her, backed her up against the wall, watching her bite her lip at such close proximity, obviously approving of his initiative. He leaned in, thinking this was it, this was the moment, but of course someone had to open the door to his office and step outside just then, didn't they? "Commander." He sighed, and then ground his teeth in agitation. "You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report."

The agent walked over to them. "Commander?"

"What?!" he snarled, making Ellana and the agent both jump.

"Sister Leliana's report? You wanted a copy without delay." He swallowed at the glare Cullen gave at the intrusion. "Or...to your office then. I'll uh...I'll just leave it on your desk."

He turned and practically ran, back into Cullen's office to deliver the report. He shook his head at the man, then turned back to Ellana, who was just about to say something, when he said it for her. He wasted no time in pressing his lips to hers, halting her with a kiss, pinning her to the wall. She squeaked in surprise, but quickly followed with a moan of approval. Cullen's hands soon cupped her cheeks, and his mouth twisted against hers.

So where was it then? Where was the race in his heart? Where was that tight strained feeling that meant if he didn't strip her bare and take her right there on the battlements, he'd lose his mind? Where was the appeal to this?

Her lips were soft, but...well, there was nothing special about it really. It just felt...well, the same as anything else. Not much of an improvement, really. He pulled away a little, to look down at her, see her heated gaze, her breathless heaving, her arousal, as he expected. But...where was the excitement he was supposed to feel? Yes, Maker, she was a beautiful woman, that was true, but why didn't he feel like he would die without her?

Where was the spark? The electricity? Why didn't this feel right?

Why wasn't he even _remotely_ aroused?

"I'm sorry. That was...uh, that was nice," he said, and immediately wanted to kick himself, because the lust in her eyes instantly shifted to dissonance and she scoffed.

"Nice? Really, Cullen? That was nice?" she deadpanned. "Creators, you _are_ bad at this," she told him, and his eyes slammed shut, regretting he ever opened his mouth. He went to speak again, to apologize, but she scoffed again, shrugging away from him. "Ugh, just...oh never mind, you already ruined it. Whatever, let's just...how about we go back to my quarters and we'll start over from there?"

"I have to get back to work," he said, and she stamped her foot, honest to the Maker, pouting like a two year old! Un- _fucking_ -believable! "Another time perhaps, Inquisitor," he said between his teeth, and turned to walk away, hearing her growl vehemently behind him.

 _Oh, Maker give me strength!_ he prayed, then sighed.

_Scratch that, just kill me now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so... _that_ happened.


	9. The Right One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian saves the day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for rage inducing absurdity :/

Dorian made haste to distract himself by searching the library for anything and everything he could, even remotely relating to Lyrium and its effects, hoping to get the jump on Cullen's condition. And determined to avoid thought of who he left his friend alone with. But no matter how he tried that evening, he couldn't escape this sense of dread over leaving Cullen with the Inquisitor in such a vulnerable state. It was all he could think about.

How she looked so positively smug, smiling at him the way she did.

Like the cat that ate the canary. Swallowed it whole and licked her bloody chops.

He seethed at the thought.

He and Ellana didn't have the easiest of friendships, really.

Well, one could scarcely call it friendship, more like reluctant allies treading on thin ice to maintain a level of civility at any given moment.

Yes, that summed it up nicely.

Unlike the agonizingly slow to trust enemies-to-friends that he experienced with the dashing Commander, his relationship with Ellana Lavellan was a different breed entirely. It was rather the opposite actually. It started as a means of survival, both caught up in Alexius's foolish plan to ally with Corypheus in order to save his son, the promise that the Elder One would cure Felix, and in return he would secure Redcliffe's mages, and kill Ellana.

It turned into a courtship of necessity, both trapped in time, in a dismal future, and their only means of escape was a reluctant alliance struck. Ellana did not sugar coat anything, and was not above admitting the only reason she relied on Dorian was because she needed him to escape, which he didn't mind. It was better than living under the false pretense that a Dalish elf could possibly put any faith in the son of a Magister.

It was founded on a mutual disgust for the Venatori, and a mutual need to stop whatever the Elder One planned, but it was by no means a willing partnership, in any form. She only ever allowed him to stay because they shared a common enemy. And he would never forget the day she recruited him, told the Inquisition's advisers how valuable he was to the Inquisition, then later pulled him aside to show him her true colors.

_'The only reason you're still here is because of the Venatori, Mister Pavus, but don't think for a second that means I trust you. You serving the Inquisition means you're not out there where I can't see what you're up to. I'll be keeping my eye on you. The second you do something I don't approve of, you're gone. One way or another, I will make sure of it. And don't ever forget that about me.'_

Oh how adorable.

True, that one brazen act of selflessness, risking his life, and everything he'd given up by staying and working with the Inquisition, would by no means make up for the fall of Elvhenan, and the oppression of elves. That was just silly. But did Ellana Lavellan–who had never been a slave, nor lived in an alienage, or ever suffered like other less fortunate elves might have–have to make Dorian Pavus pay for mistakes he never personally made?

Hardly seemed fair, did it?

He thought that eventually they would reach an understanding, but they never did. Just ignored one another, for the most part.

And when they did interact, each instance was more nerve wracking than the last.

But Ellana Lavellan, while she was brave, bold, and dutifully closed rifts, was still young, and rather shortsighted with certain subjects, in the mage's opinion. And when she executed Gereon Alexius, it broke his heart. _'He asked for it,' she said. 'He wanted to die, Dorian, and he deserves to die! You saw what he did in Redcliffe! You saw how evil he is! You think for one second I would allow that man to go on living, go on posing a threat to us?'_

_'You don't believe in chances for redemption, Inquisitor?'_

_'You really think you people deserve redemption?' she asked._

Wasn't that sweet of her, to include Dorian in that.

But alas, she knew he wouldn't go anywhere, he wouldn't abandon the Inquisition's cause, because though he had little faith in Ellana Lavellan, he had faith in the Inquisition, he believed in the work they were doing. With every Venatori agent disposed of, with every rift closed, with every Red Lyrium supply destroyed, they were closer to peace. With every step taken, it was a step in the right direction.

And she would never make him leave, because in the end, she knew his value, even if she wouldn't acknowledge it.

Such was the tenuous game they played.

But there was a bright side to it. Not trusting him with her safety in the field meant he was never asked to travel with her. Which meant he was able to serve the Inquisition here at Skyhold instead. Working mostly with the apprentices, training young mages alongside the Senior Enchanters, assisting with their research, pestering Dagna, oh, and the best part, being in close proximity to the Commander.

And while sometimes he would prefer to be out there, doing some actual good, at least his robes stayed clean.

He was by no means complaining, either way.

But there was an upside and a downside to everything, and while he was reading, the downside walked in and rudely flopped down in his chair, swinging her legs over the armrest. He tensed at the familiar shadow out of the corner of his eye. "Inquisitor," he greeted, with false jubilation. "We've come to talk about me, I hope. Always my favorite subject." He closed the book and turned to see her pinched features. "What can I do for you?"

"I kissed Cullen," Ellana told him, so casually, like she were discussing the weather. Dorian's heart jumped. Now, why would it go and do a thing like that? And when, precisely, did they reach a level of camaraderie that she was running to _him_ to talk of such things? Or was it because she knew he was attracted to him, and thought to rub it in. "It was hours ago. It's probably the talk of all Skyhold by now."

"How lovely," he chirped. She just stared at the wall in response. "Is something the matter?" he reluctantly inquired, out of sheer morbid curiosity.

She groaned dramatically.

"It wasn't what I thought it would be," she said. "Trust me, you're not missing anything. As it turns out, Cullen is really bad at that sort of thing. It wasn't even that good really. Not like mind-blowing or anything. And we got interrupted by that stupid messenger, what's-his-face, I can never remember his name. Then what does Cullen say? 'Well, that was nice.' Nice?! That's the man's big line? Creators, if he wasn't so cute I'd toss him off the battlements."

Dorian didn't know how to respond to this really. On the one hand, yes, that was terrible of him, but on the other, well, he was just so infuriated that the girl thought to come and gossip about it, and bad mouth the Commander like she did. To his friend! Of all the people she could've approached, she had to blurt it out at Dorian? He was in awe of it, really. The audacity this young woman possessed. It was truly remarkable.

He wanted to laugh though. That Ellana would say he was no good at kissing? Ha! What did _she_ know of the subject? For the kiss _he_ shared with Cullen was phenomenal. Oh, he probably just didn't put that much effort into it because he's not truly interested in her. Dorian would stake his life on it. "Someone's been borrowing Swords & Shields, haven't they?" he couldn't help but ask, making her roll her eyes.

"So, anyway, can you talk to him for me?" she asked. Dorian blinked.

"Come again?"

"Well, you're friends, so I figured you could say something to him. He's really bad at this whole romance thing, but you're really good at it from what I hear. They talk about you all the time in the Herald's Rest. They say you're a regular man-whore. So I figured you could give him some tips or something. I just want Cullen to be more...I don't know, like you. He's stupidly shy, all the time, and it's adorable. But it's starting to get old, and I'm tired of just flirting with him."

Dorian was almost aghast at what he heard, but tried desperately not to show it.

"If I may ask, Inquisitor, why are you so persistent about this?" Dorian inquired. "Why not simply set your sights on another man that's more to your taste?"

She rolled her eyes. "Are you kidding me? I don't have to tell _you_ how attractive he is. Creators, that man is _gorgeous_ , and an opportunity like Cullen really isn't going to come again. Eventually Corypheus will be defeated, and I'll be going back to my clan when this is over, and I really don't see how I'll get away with it then. An elf and a human? Ha! There's no way my Keeper would ever go for that."

"You make him sound like a conquest of some sort," Dorian remarked, only barely containing his agitation at the thought. "Like some sort of forbidden fruit you can't pass up."

"Mmm, tasty fruit though," she purred, and then laughed at the face he made. "What? Aren't all men just conquests to you?"

Dorian stilled his anger enough to say, calmly, "That may or may not be so, but they're people, Ellana, not playthings."

"Oh that's rich, coming from you," she snipped. "Just how many elven slaves have been chained to your bedpost, hmm?"

And _that_ was the statement he'd been waiting for. _Vishante kaffas_ , he cursed in his head. _I swear by Andraste and the Maker himself that if it weren't for that magic on your hand I'd have strangled you by now, you insipid little whore!_ Dorian sighed. True, he'd partaken in a great many sordid, sinful things in his life, for the fun of it, but to dare insinuate he would take to bed someone who wasn't willing?!

Oh they were willing, and only ever that. To take advantage of someone like that. It was unthinkable!

The nerve she had!

He forced a smile. "Wouldn't you like to know," he quipped, and she paled. He waved his empty hand in the air dramatically. "I do find bound, gagged, bleary eyed elves to have a certain unique flavor," he said. "It's very difficult to replicate."

"You had better not be serious," she hissed angrily, and he chuckled.

"You are very easy to rile, Inquisitor," he said. "But in regards to the Commander, I'm afraid I'm no help on the matter."

She pouted. "Oh come on. It's not like I'm asking much. And I never ask you for anything. Just give a few tips. Make him a bit more witty and charming. And maybe actually make yourself _useful_ around here for a change, instead of lazing about the library all day long."

He scoffed, then turned away from her, sliding his book back into its place on the shelf and started perusing more, counting to three in his head before hearing Ellana's pouting huff.

"So you won't talk to him then?"

"My dear, I have more important things to do at the moment than preen the Commander of the Inquisition for Her Worship's liking," he said. "And so does he. He has many responsibilities, and little patience to play games with anyone. The only sort of game he _is_ interested in playing is chess. So unless your pursuit of him is worth his time, I would suggest you set your sights elsewhere."

She scoffed. "Well I get if he doesn't want a relationship, that's fine. I just want to have sex with him, that's all. Not like I want to marry him. Is that so hard for him to understand?"

That was Dorian's point exactly. He knew, knew right from the beginning, from the very first time he was a witness to interactions between the Inquisitor and the Commander, that it was all about sex. She didn't actually care about Cullen, or what he wanted, did she? There was nothing wrong with that, nothing so terrible about wanting to have a little fun, but at the expense of Cullen's emotions? A thing of which she toyed with on a daily basis?

And instead of being mature about it, she wanted to whine and pout until she got her way about something.

"Well, perhaps that's precisely what you should tell him, Inquisitor," Dorian snipped.

"Hmph," she huffed. "You're _jealous_ , aren't you?" She grinned, and Dorian rolled his eyes before looking her up and down, from top to bottom.

"Truly, what is there to be jealous of?" he asked. "If you'll excuse me," he then told her, turning to walk away, fleeing his sanctuary, of which Ellana was currently despoiling.

Oh but how he _hated_ her so.

Though the moment he realized it wasn't jealousy he felt, but that it was actually concern for his friend involving himself with a woman who might only break his heart, well, that changed some things. No, it wasn't envy. It was _anger_ he felt. Dorian didn't see first hand what sort of man he used to be, but right here, right now, today, Cullen was a decent man. He deserved better than her. He would _have_ better than her, if Dorian had anything to say about it.

The "Maker's Chosen" was worthy of many things, but Cullen Rutherford was _not_ one of those things.

It was about time he checked in on Cullen, to make sure the potions were doing their job, so he marched straight across the bridge to Cullen's tower, without hesitation, and knocked on the door. "Enter," he heard, in that usual tone he'd become accustomed to, one of assured and utmost confidence, but when he entered, Cullen wasn't standing over his desk eyeing reports, but sitting down, leaning on the armrest of the chair. Moping.

"How are you feeling?" Dorian asked, and Cullen shrugged.

"I...I feel fine," he said. "Truly. I've gotten a lot of work done. I feel pretty good about it. And no headache still."

"Good, good," Dorian nodded, and then stood looking around the room. Then he sighed. "Nice? All you had to say was, 'that was nice'?" he asked, and Cullen's eyes snapped to his, before he groaned and hung his head. "Truly, Commander, I expected more from you," he teased. Then he eyed Cullen disbelievingly. "I thought you didn't want to be with Ellana. What did you plan to do? Hope to run her off by proving to her how boring and unenthusiastic you'd be in bed?"

Cullen sighed. _'I did it to get you out of my head,'_ was on the tip of his tongue.

"I'll admit that was not one of my finer moments," he said. "So you heard all about that, I assume?"

"Oh yes, I heard everything. Ellana came to me and spilled all," Dorian told him. Cullen blushed shamefully before palming his face. "Nice? Really? You finally kissed the girl and all you thought to say was, 'Oh, how nice'?"

"Well, it _was_ nice," Cullen said. "I mean, it...wasn't novel worthy, I suppose, rather awkward, and we got interrupted, but it was..."

"Nice, yes, you established that." Dorian could help but chuckle a little, shaking his head at the man, coming short of the desk and leaning against it. "When are you going to wake up, Commander, and realize that girl isn't the one for you?" he asked. Cullen floundered in his chair, scrubbing his face with both palms, before leaning forward and fiddling with a slip of paper on his desk and sighing.

"What am I to do?"

"Tell her! Go to her, tell her you're not interested, and then go find a woman you _are_ interested in and stop letting Ellana Lavellan waste your valuable time!"

Again, Cullen sighed, and thought about that for a minute. Maker, Dorian was right, wasn't he?–Of course, when was he not?–Forcing himself upon the Inquisitor accomplished absolutely nothing, and was indeed a waste of his valuable time, wasn't it? "So I'm just to refuse her then? And in the process not only make it awkward to work with her, but allow people to think I rejected her advances because I'm prejudiced against her kind?"

"Are you?"

"Well, no, of course not-"

"Then what does it matter, Cullen?" Dorian asked. Cullen sighed and kneaded his brow.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter, but...Maker, I can't do this," he said. "Give me a room full of combatants and a sword, I can work wonders, but this?" He sighed. "I'm no good at this." He leaned back in his seat, a mixture of self contempt and exasperation just then. "I was a Templar and I command an army. But matters such as these have never been my area of expertise. I'm afraid I sufficiently lack the ability, unlike you."

"That much is obvious, Commander," Dorian told him. Then it was his turn to sigh. "She is recklessly brave, Cullen, and willing to sit on that throne and pass judgments, make the hard decisions, assume responsibility, but she is young, with hardly any experience with the world outside her clan before joining the Inquisition. And even less experience with men. But she's curious, and she's infatuated with you.

But eventually, she will choose her clan over you, when this is over. She would leap at the chance to sleep with you, but she would only break your heart. She would not respect your wants, much less your beliefs. She would not love you. You have so much to focus on without adding her to your list of troubles, so unless you truly want to entangle yourself in meaningless sex with no attachment to the Herald of Andraste, tell her the truth."

Cullen swallowed at that admittance, left stunned and speechless. And then his heart started racing in apprehension. Maker, was that it then? Was that the truth he'd been trying to ignore, the obviousness he'd been trying to deny? That he pushed Ellana away not because of his duty to their cause, but because deep down he knew it could never work with her, and she could never give him what he truly desired?

That it would never be more than lust? That there was no future with her?

…Or was it something else?

 _Someone_ else?

Dorian pushed himself away from the desk and straightened his stance, folding both arms, waiting on Cullen's response to all that.

 _Maker's breath, it's Dorian_ , he thought. _Dorian was what started this. I wanted so badly to get him out of my head that I ignored all the warnings, all the signs and signals, and let my frustration win over any better sense._ And to what end? He was rather embarrassed to admit it, even to himself, that all he had accomplished was think about Dorian _more_. Comparing Ellana to him, to how it felt, the Inquisitor feeling so bland, whereas Dorian...

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, shoving that thought aside, and instead concentrating on the topic at hand.

Meaningless sex with Ellana.

"Maker's breath," he cursed. Then he sighed. "You're right, I don't think I want that with her. But, Andraste preserve me, I don't know where to begin. If it were you in my position, what would you say to her?" Cullen asked him, and Dorian chuckled a little ruefully, shaking his head.

 _I'd tell her to go fuck herself_ , Dorian thought.

"You truly don't want me answering that, Commander," he said. Cullen snorted.

"Well, nevertheless, I appreciate the _honesty_ ," he quipped lightly, and Dorian smirked a little. Cullen chewed his lip for a moment. "Do you want to get a drink with me later?" he asked when the thought occurred to him. "At the Rest? I have a feeling I'm going to need one after what's coming."

"Commander Cullen Rutherford, the great Lion of Ferelden, in the Herald's Rest, drinking to his heart's content after rejecting the Inquisitor? I wouldn't miss that for the world," Dorian answered. "It's sure to be entertaining."

"This is going to be a disaster, isn't it?"

"Oh, it won't be that bad," Dorian consoled. "Truly, Cullen, what's the worst that could happen?"

Cullen's head thumped the desk and he groaned at that statement. "You had to say it, didn't you."

He looked up to see Dorian grinning like a madman. "I'll let you get back to work."

"Of course you will," the Commander groused. "Now that you've sufficiently taunted me, you take off running before I can retaliate."

Dorian chuckled. "But of course I do." He started toward the door, glancing back to see Cullen shaking his head at him, trying not to smile but miserably failing, and he winked before he shut the door tightly behind him. He sighed when he was outside. Kaffas! If only he could've been honest with Cullen from the start, if only he could've prevented Cullen from ever getting involved with her in the first place. If only he could've...

Oh but what was the use. He did the best he could. Now it was up to Cullen.

Who was still chuckling at his desk long after Dorian left. Though eventually it dimmed and he sighed dejectedly at the thought of breaking things off with Ellana. But he had to. Dorian was right, Ellana was many things, but she was not right for Cullen. And thanks to Dorian's potions, he was able to bring himself to leave his office and attend that evening's meeting in the War Room at sunset.

The meeting was rather tense. All three women kept conversation to a minimum, for a change, where usually they were a coop full of clucking chickens all around the table. Josephine asked if he was feeling better, accepting his wordless nod with one of her own, then proceeded to address matters with their Orlesian allies. Leliana was much the same, only speaking when necessary, and her words were short, clipped responses.

She wasn't even trying to hide her irritation at something, though for the life of him, Cullen couldn't figure out why, unless she'd heard of what happened between him and Ellana, which was likely, considering it was one of her scouts that interrupted them amid conversation on the battlements. But he wasn't sure if Leliana's ire was directed at Cullen, or the Inquisitor. Much less the reason for it.

As for their leader, she'd steal glances his way, much in the usual fashion, but she had no comments to make beyond simple yes or no answers to someone's suggestion, or picking the best possible course of action she felt like taking regarding a certain issue. Cullen had always hoped for boring, tedious interactions like this, just work and no banter, but Maker if it wasn't uncomfortable after getting so used to the opposite.

When the meeting was adjourned, and the four of them rearranged items on the table, collected their things then made to leave, Cullen asked Ellana if he might have a moment with her still. Leliana and Josephine made no comment, but their curious gazes were hard to miss. Ellana nodded and set the parchment in her hand back down on the table, moving to lean against it, chewing her lip as his fellow advisers were closing the door behind them.

"What's on your mind, Commander?" she asked, when they were gone. He took a deep breath.

"About earlier today, about us...Ellana I..." He regretted using her name. She welcomed the informal use of it and stepped closer to him, a playful smile spreading across her face and she placed both hands upon his breastplate. He tensed at the touch. Maker, this was backfiring already! He swallowed nervously at the way her eyes smoldered then, and as starved as he was for affection, he almost gave in to it.

"Oh, it's alright, Cullen," she cooed, moving her hands up to grip the fur of his mantle. "We could always pick back up where we left off here. There's no one to interrupt us now. No scouts, no one but us." She bit her lip. "You could take me right here on this table."

"That wouldn't be appropriate," he said. She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Creators, you're such a prude! It's just sex, Cullen, what does it matter where we do it?"

Cullen sighed at those words and reached to untangle her from him, slowly bringing her hands back to her sides. "That's all it is to you, isn't it?" he asked.

She froze at those words. And then Ellana flashed back to her conversation with Dorian earlier. _'The only game he is interested in playing is chess',_ the mage had said to her. Dammit, the man was right. Cullen didn't want just to sleep with her, did he? But what had he said to the Commander to make him change his mind from pulling her into a kiss earlier until now? She was certain Dorian had something to do with this.

"Look, you were the one who kissed me," she told him. "I'm just trying to figure out what you actually want here? I mean, do you want to sleep with me, or not?"

He took a deep breath. "No," he answered. "I–I'm not entirely sure why I kissed you," he lied. "But you wanted-"

"Whoa," she chuckled, throwing up her hands. "Hold on. If you just kissed me because you thought that's what I wanted, save yourself the hurt. It'll save me all the trouble."

"Your Worship-"

"If you're not interested, Cullen, it's alright," she said with a shrug, pretending to take no offense. "If you don't want to sleep with me, all you had to do was say so." _Really?_ he thought. It was that easy, was it? By the Divine, rest her soul, he _hoped_.

"I am sorry," he said stiffly, building back up that formal wall between them, and her shoulders slumped a little. "With my...with my withdrawal from Lyrium, and my duties to the Inquisition, I realized I have no business being involved with anyone," he said. "It wouldn't be fair to them, nor to myself. You are a remarkable person, Ellana Lavellan, and I do admire you, but...I'm afraid I would only disappoint you."

She chuckled. "Well, I doubt that," she said, "But I think I get it."

"Do you?" he asked. She shrugged again. "I don't want you to think you were the cause, Inquisitor, or that it was anything you did wrong. I just-"

"I get it!" she said, and then patted his arm. "I won't lie, I'm a bit disappointed. You're very handsome, Commander, but I understand if you just want to be friends."

"I do," he told her. "Though I would hate for this to affect our duties, much less our lives, in any way."

"Well, it won't," she said. Then she sighed. "And I'm off then. To bed early for me, and to Emprise Du Lion in the morning." He nodded. "Creators willing, I'll get out of that rat fest with nothing more than a good story to tell, yes?" He chuckled at that.

"I would hope," he said. "Good evening, Inquisitor."

"Same to you, Commander," she smiled, and left the room.

He slumped after she left, leaning heavily on the sturdy oaken table behind him, closing his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

_Maker forgive me, I just lied to her. I lied to the woman to avoid trouble. Lied right through my teeth! Bloody Void, Dorian's going to have a field day when he hears of this._

_And I'm definitely going to need that drink first..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you she's an ass hat.
> 
> So, Ellana's character actually came about because I was inspired by how our PCs actually behave in the game. I mean, think about it. We burst into someone's office and engage in the conversation with them and they have to drop whatever they're doing to talk to us. (And you know we all go snooping in Cullen's loft at some point) So I got to thinking of how the characters might react to a person that actually behaved like that, and she evolved from there. And being Dalish sort of fit that characterization. A person with limited interaction with humans, and so I got to thinking 'what if she was genuinely short-sighted?' Some Dalish can be fairly close minded, so what if the 'hero' was? Not just weaknesses, but what if they had some genuine flaws of character? So expect to see some of that in future chapters.
> 
> Okay, walking away now.
> 
> -SB


	10. Rumor Has It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen, plus alcohol.

When the last meeting of the day adjourned, and the Inquisition's high ranking retired for the evening, Josephine and Leliana could still be found in the Ambassador's office, chatting quietly as the Commander passed. "Good evening, ladies," he said politely as he passed, unable to ignore how they stared up at him as if they'd been caught stealing candy. Which meant they were talking about him, no doubt.

But they each nodded in farewell as he parted, without a word said, much less a question as to why he looked so utterly exhausted when he'd only been in the War Room, speaking with the Inquisitor for half a minute, let alone did he do anything untoward. Out of the room he ventured, and into the hall that was emptying of people as he went. He caught a few stares, per usual, as not anyone in Skyhold didn't know who he was, or know of him.

Some of the noble ladies curtsied, or simply watched him walk by in wonder, transfixed, and then whispered behind his back. The Maker-forsaken rumor mill always started with them, it seemed. The ladies of the Keep that might see an expression, or notice a hand gesture and run with it, come up with all sorts of conclusions about it. And considering how easily rumors started, he could only wonder of what would become of the whole thing now.

Face contorted into a frown, he marched past the nobles in the Great Hall, giving a slight nod to Varric in his corner as he passed, and noticed the writer was still hard at work appeasing his numerous fans, and walked right into the rotunda, pausing to glance up at Solas' mural. A beautiful piece, depicting the Inquisition's victories so far, and one could only wonder what might be painted next. Hopefully more victories.

Solas had his head bent, examining a document at his worktable, but noticed Cullen in his peripheral vision, and cast a side glance his way to see the man eyeing the mural before making his way toward the steps leading up into the library. But then the apostate watched as the Commander paused in the stairwell, hesitant for a moment. He braced himself against the frame and took a deep breath.

A painful aura rolled off of the man in waves. It always did. It seemed rightly evident at all times of day to one such as the gifted apostate that painted in the tower that Cullen suffered almost constantly. One might not notice such things if they weren't looking for them, but Solas almost shuddered at the feel of it as Cullen started making his way up the stairs. Out of innate curiosity, Solas left his table and ventured closer.

Standing just below Dorian's nook, he could hear Cullen speaking to Dorian, asking, "You want to go have that drink now?"

"Does silk not come from spiders, Commander?" Dorian quipped, and Cullen chuckled.

"So I'll take that as a yes," he said.

"Well, it’s not a no," Dorian told him. "Come on, to the Herald's Rest with you."

Dorian had been in a cloud all day as well, much like the Commander, Solas had noticed. Rage emanated from him like a red fog, and followed him everywhere. Solas, backing away from the stairwell and stepping over to his table as they descended, was amazed at the change they over went quite suddenly, by only being in proximity to one another. As they descended the steps, Cullen's despair lessened, and Dorian's rage evaporated entirely.

He wondered if they were aware of their affect on one another.

"Good evening, Solas," Cullen said kindly as he passed and Solas nodded.

"Grow some bloody hair already, will you?" Dorian teased, and Solas chuckled.

"Never," he swore. "I shave it only for your benefit, Pavus."

That left both men chuckling as they exited the room and Solas sighed. Both, as much as they would like to deny it, and might seem on the exterior to be calloused or otherwise undeserving in some way, both were quite decent men, actually. As far as he had seen, both had come far from the men they used to be, or might've been. He was glad those two had found one another. He hoped they enjoyed the time they had while it lasted…

"I hear people talking already," Cullen groused as they crossed the Great Hall. "Surely all of Skyhold knows everything."

"People talk, Commander," Dorian told him. "If they didn't they'd grow mad with boredom in this dreary Keep, the lechers they are."

Cullen sighed at that. "I think you're just mad they're not talking about you."

Dorian smirked. "You know me too well," he said.

And true to their assumption, the Herald's Rest was abuzz that night with all sorts of gossip on everyone's lips, though only some of it might've been related to Cullen's stint with Ellana, truthfully, but the tavern was packed to the brim. Mostly familiar faces to Cullen though, which was a pleasant surprise. He didn't get five steps inside before someone was calling his name and waving him over, and he stopped to chat.

He was never standoffish to his fellow man, Dorian noticed. _'These people are willing to die for us,'_ he'd said once. _'The least I can do is stop to say hello. Shake their hand.'_

Dorian forged ahead and weaved his way through the crowd toward the bar, waving down Cabot to order drinks. As he leaned on the woodwork, he glanced back to see the Commander caught up with a couple of soldiers, laughing at whatever they just said. "He's still alive, I see," said Cabot, nodding to Cullen. "Man came in here an hour ago betting fifty sovereigns Commander Cullen was dead and the advisers faked it."

"Nothing can kill that man," Dorian found himself saying, before he realized he'd even said it aloud. Indeed, it was a drastic change that evening, from morose and borderline recalcitrant all afternoon, and now he was as jovial as he could be. Greeting familiar faces, shaking hands, slowly making his way through the crowd, but there was always someone to stop him. Dorian put in his request, waited for the drinks, then parted, smirk playing at his lips.

Cullen was a bit nervous still though, for he didn't come to the Rest often. Work usually kept him fairly busy, and thus kept him out of the public eye at Skyhold, for the most part. It certainly kept him away from those that worked closest with Ellana, who therefore would have the most vested in their little affair. The Chargers were back from Ferelden, Blackwall was over in the corner, and Sera was hanging over the railing, ogling Maryden.

Cullen had hoped perhaps they'd get a quiet table, just the two of them, and talk about things. He'd hoped to inquire more of Felix, but he very quickly realized that was not likely to happen. Once they spotted them, people flocked. Bull waved them over to his corner of the room, and the Chargers dragged over a bigger table. Sera hopped down from her perch on the stairs, and Blackwall joined them as he and Dorian sat down.

He didn't want to be rude, so he pretended to relish in the company.

"Commander Cullen," the Qunari bellowed.

"The Iron Bull," Cullen greeted in turn, only half leery now about a Qunari present at Skyhold after what happened in Kirkwall, though still very tense with so many eyes watching him.

"And Dorian Pavus," Bull greeted the mage, grinning lopsided. Krem strode up next to Cullen and stuck out his hand.

"Commander," he greeted, and Cullen nodded to him, briefly grasping his hand to shake. At that moment, Dorian, who sidled up next to him and didn't dare allow another to claim that seat, was setting a tin cup before him and he stared down at the amber liquid.

"What's this?" he asked, after nodding in greeting to Blackwall, who raised his cup across the table in salute. Dorian grinned mischievously.

"It took me the better part of the evening to think of an appropriate drink for one such as our astute Commander," he said. "Try it."

"But what is it?"

"Oh will you just try it?" Dorian groaned, and Cullen hesitantly took a sip.

"Mnh, that's actually pretty good, what is that?"

"Mead, it's called," he said. "It's wine made from honey." And it was the strongest drink he would allow Cullen, really, considering he was never one for drinking, and with the potions he was taking for his withdrawal, he wouldn't recommend hard liquor. He shouldn't be drinking at all, but Dorian was a much better friend than a physician, honestly. And honey mead was suited to the Commander, in the mage's opinion.

Mellower than some, but a blade with an edge; rough, but made from sweeter things.

"Hey, so is it true that Cully-Wully over 'ere blew it with Ellana?" Sera asked, jumping right into conversation as if she'd always been there, and hadn't just dropped onto the table from above before sliding into an empty seat beside Blackwall, who was hardly phased by the behavior. She picked up the tankard in front of her. "Heard you two were sucking face all over your office and then you freaked on 'er like an idiot."

"Hello to you too, Sera," Cullen sighed, rolling his eyes, and she grinned.

"Rumor has it you and Her Worship were up on the battlements," said Blackwall. Cullen pressed his gloved hand to his face and kneaded his brow.

"And you were caught by one of Leliana's, who ran out of there faster than lightning when you barked at him like a Ferelden war hound," said Krem, chuckling.

"And blew all your chances with 'er too," said Sera. "Look at 'im! He's turned pink! So it's true then! Pay up, Beardy!" She held her hand out to Blackwall who sighed and started fishing coin from one of his pockets. Dorian scoffed at such nonsense and sipped his wine. Meanwhile, Cullen was indeed a rosy shade of pink, hunched over in his seat, nursing his cup, all manner of joviality wiped clean.

"And rumor has it you turned her down flat in the War Room?" Bull added.

"Andraste preserve me!" Cullen exclaimed. "How can anyone possibly hear of something happening in the War Room, in private, and less than an hour ago?"

"Walls talk, sir," Krem shrugged. "So do people."

Oh, he could imagine just who it was that talked.

Cullen sighed. "Yes. Yes, I may have...rejected her, yes."

"Maker's balls, lad, what took you so long?!" Blackwall laughed, and Cullen's eyes shot up to meet his. He noticed their easygoing smiles then. "We've had a bet going on for months now to see how long before you finally cracked, Commander." Cullen sighed, then shook his head at them, wallowing in his cup. He really didn't want to talk about this, much less with them, but Dorian seemed content to talk for him.

"He feared his rejection would cause all of Skyhold to think he held some sort of prejudice against elves," he informed.

"Bah!" Bull waved that off. "People will think what they will, regardless of what anyone says about it, won't they, Vint?"

"Quite so," he said, with only a hint of concern over that.

"Well, about bloody time he straightened things out with her," Blackwall piped up. "Ought not be messing with that girl if you ask me. Fine lookin' woman, but she's too young for him."

"Stupid," said Sera beside him. "Stupid is what she is. All touched Lady Herald is all touched in the head. And she goes on and on about all that elfy shite, shem this and shem that, Elvy-non, Ar-lath-on, whatever. Blegh! Don't know why she doesn't like Solas. He's all dusty and old boring shite too." Cullen thought to ask if anyone could translate that, for he didn't understand a word of it, but the Altus was already making reply.

"Because Solas isn't Dalish, darling," said Dorian. "He rejects their ways. She has no more care for him than any of us pesky shemlen."

"Stupid," she muttered into her cup.

"You realize you are speaking of our Inquisitor," Cullen finally brought himself to say before taking another drink. Sera shrugged, so did Bull.

"The Boss isn't perfect," he said. "Good fighter, good at a lot of things, but bad with humans."

"If anyone is prejudiced against anyone it's _her_ ," said Blackwall. "You wouldn't bloody _believe_ some of the shit she says all liquored up. But she's willing to go out there an' fight for Thedas. She's got good people behind her to pick up the slack. Men like you, Commander. And she's there to get the job done when it matters. That's all I give a damn about. Spiteful, but worthy of following into battle."

"And that's why we like her, sir," said Krem with a smirk before tipping back the bottle in his hand.

"Really? Because I couldn't tell," Cullen groused. Krem chuckled.

"Everyone has flaws, sir, and we like being reminded that even the woman up top above us all has some of those flaws too."

"Still trying to find fault with this one though," Blackwall said, pointing right at Cullen across the table. Cullen snorted, almost shaking his head in disbelief. But then the hair raised on the back of his neck when a new voice joined the conversation.

"Oh, I could tell you some stories about Curly," said Varric as he walked up, then seated himself on the other side of Dorian. Cullen tensed at those words.

"But no one would believe them, my friend," Dorian told him and the storyteller chuckled. Then Dorian turned to Cullen. "You know, I've always meant to ask, why does he call you that?" Cullen choked a little on his drink and struggled to come up with an answer, still quite flustered at the dwarven rogue's presence at the table. Never quite could have a proper conversation with Varric since Kirkwall.

The rogue chuckled. "I call him Curly because of his hair, Sparkler."

"But he doesn't have curly hair," Dorian surmised, assessing Cullen. Truthfully, it didn't take long after they met for Dorian to figure out what Cullen did with his hair, and why it wasn't curly, but it was still fun to imagine what the rest of it looked like. "No, it isn't curly. Sort of wavy, but not curly. Odd. Does that mean you refer to hair elsewhere, Master Tethras?" Dorian grinned and bit his lip, and Cullen blanched.

"Look, a' that, Cully turned pink again!" Sera laughed at Cullen's face. Oh, but Dorian wasn't done yet. He turned completely to Varric.

"And if indeed it's not his head hair, just how did you obtain that information, hmm?" he asked the dwarf, and now the laughter was directed at the rogue, who also sighed, shaking his head.

"Alright, yeah, I guess I kind of set myself up for that one," he said.

Cullen nursed his cup, was in and out of conversation after that, and while the others talked around him, first more about Ellana, then moving on to other things, Cullen steadily drank, quietly stewing. Only half listening to conversation as he thought back on his botched kiss with Ellana, and then their conversation in the War Room. Maker, he felt like such a fool, spending so much time worrying about hurting her feelings.

Only to learn it had never been serious for her. But then again, when had she ever really been that considerate of him. Only when she had to be, of course. Only when they were discussing missions, surrounded by others, did she consider his thoughts on anything. And he felt so foolish for not acknowledging it sooner. That it was all a game to her. He put so much effort into focusing on her perks that he forgot about the flaws.

Hearing the others speak of the Inquisitor introduced him to a whole new side of her as well. He never realized before that maybe Ellana was only motivated by helping her people, but wouldn't otherwise care about the world outside her clan. At least, it sounded that way. And there wasn't a single person at that table that faulted him for rejecting her. It changed the Commander's perspective on things. Made him feel very foolish though, for not taking the initiative sooner.

So he stewed. Drank, and stewed. And before he knew it, he was drunk.

He didn't even realize how drunk he was, not until he was ready to call it a night and stood up from the table. He was perfectly fine until then, but when he stood, he swayed, and the room started spinning. Maker's breath, what was in that wine?! He remembered Dorian saying it was made from honey, but obviously it was a touch stronger than any current if only two or three–or was it four?–drinks had him dizzy like this.

"Uh-oh," Bull said, and everyone glanced at the Commander. "Hey, Vint, can you-"

"Already on it," said Dorian, who had seen Cullen swaying when he stood, then steady himself with the table. He rose from his chair and closed the space between them, putting his hand on Cullen's arm. "Come on, my friend, time to go. Let's get you back to your tower."

"I'm..." Cullen was going to say fine, but Sweet Andraste he was anything but. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maker, I'm drunk."

"Yes, I can see that. Come on then."

He could feel someone pat his shoulder before blindly following the hand tugging his arm, Dorian leading him to the stairs, actually, rather than to the main entrance. He scoffed at those stairs. "Sweet Maker, all those steps!" he whined, hearing Dorian chuckle. But at the top floor of the tavern there was a back entrance that led out onto the battlements, then it would be a fairly straight line to Cullen's tower.

And less people to see their stalwart Commander stumbling drunk. They marched up those steps, Cullen pausing every once in a while, but Dorian dragged him onward when he became too fussy. It felt like forever before they finally made it outside, and Cullen slumped against the door, catching his breath, somewhat sobering in the night air, but not much. He cradled his head for a moment. "I lied to her, Dorian," he blurted. "Lied straight to her face!"

"Oh, what are you going on about now?" Dorian groused. "Who did you lie to, Cullen?"

"To the Inquizzitor," he declared, then slumped his head against the door. "She wanted me to take her right there on that table, Dorian! And I could've done it too, but Maker's breath, I don't want to be with her! I told her it was the Lyrium, and my duties to the..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "The Inquizzition. That I shouldn't be with anyone. But, I suppose that's not a lie, really. I shouldn't be with anyone. I'm a disaster, Dorian. I really am."

Dorian sighed. "You're not a disaster, Cullen," he said, then tugged on his arm. "Let's just get you to your quarters. Well, come on then. Not that much further."

Cullen groaned. "That's so much walking," he whined. But reluctantly he peeled himself off the door and started walking, one foot in front of the other, but every once in a while he would sway again, and lean into Dorian, who would have to brace himself. Cullen was no feather, tall and broad as he was, then in full plate armor at that. Dorian sighed at the look Cullen had on his face, like he'd rather be tossed off the ramparts.

When they reached the first access, and stepped inside, he jerked away suddenly, and said, "And it's all your fault, you know!" He staggered toward the wall and leaned against it, narrowly avoiding the loose boards scattered about. Dorian followed.

"My fault?" Dorian asked. "How is any of this my fault?"

"Because you..." Cullen pointed a finger, gesturing to Dorian in front of him. "You're _you_ , that's why! And you kissed me, and now it's all...muddled up in my head and I can't make sense of it!"

"Wait a minute," Dorian waved a hand. "Make sense of what, exactly? What does this have to do with Val Chevin?"

He didn't get an answer to that, because Cullen couldn't take it anymore. In a fit of pique, Cullen pushed himself off the wall and nearly lunged at Dorian, who'd hardly the time to react, thinking Cullen might take a swing at him or something. He most certainly did not expect Cullen to reach out, take Dorian's face into his hands and kiss the man, heatedly, shocking the mage with the urgency of it.

He then pivoted, bringing Dorian around and pressing him against the wall, the mage losing his breath, and then his mind as Cullen took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His hands found the fur of Cullen's mantle, gripping it tightly, and for a moment, he simply allowed himself to be had. It was a lovely haze, as for that time Cullen's tongue searched out his own in a fervor, encouraging Dorian to do the same.

He kissed back in equal desperation, suddenly feeling and hearing Cullen's breath hitch, and he groaned. "Maker that's _it_ ," he gasped when he pulled away, but it was only for a moment, as he delved back in once more, edging closer, pressing tighter against him. But Dorian was still confused, and somewhat suspecting this was all a dream because fasta vas! Cullen would never kiss him like this!

"Kaffas, Commander!" he exhaled, breaking the kiss. "What in the Maker's name has gotten into you?!"

"You," he groaned. "You got in my head and you won't leave! Ever since that night it's been all I can think about. They way you kissed, I'd never felt anything like it and I've been chasing that feeling ever since!" Cullen took a moment to catch his breath before continuing. "Maker knows, I tried, Dorian. I tried to get you out of my head, and I failed, miserably! I tried with Ellana and it didn't work. It only made me want it _more_."

Dorian was at a loss for words for a moment there, swallowing against the sudden dryness of his throat. No, it couldn't be! Cullen couldn't possibly have tried to trap himself in a relationship with Ellana just because he was so desperate to get Dorian out of his head! That was ridiculous! Though it would explain why Cullen suddenly became so eager to wrap himself up in the woman even though he truly didn't want to.

"Maker's breath, Cullen," he gasped, gaping at the man. Then better sense took over. He shook his head, unwilling to accept. "No. No! You don't have any interest in men, and you certainly don't have any interest in me. You're just hurt because of that meddling little twit, and you're confused. You don't want this. You don't know what you're talking about. You are drunk, Cullen."

Cullen groaned and his head fell to Dorian's shoulder. "I am," he whined. "I'm so drunk. And I'm sorry. Please don't be angry with me. I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I should've told you sooner."

Dorian sighed, squeezing his eyes shut, and forced himself to say, "Yes, well, be that as it may, Cullen, while I delight in the prospect of being the center of your little world, you need sleep. Let's get you to your quarters." Cullen groaned again at that, reluctant to move. "Come on then," Dorian ushered, pushing him away and steering him the right direction. With a floundering huff he moved and started walking.

By a miracle he made it to his tower on his own two feet, though once inside the office he stumbled toward the desk and leaned against it. Dorian wasn't about to leave him like that, three sheets to the wind, so he made quick work of unbuckling Cullen's belt, removing his cloak and laying it aside, then removing his armor piece by piece and hanging it on the nearby stand. Cullen tried to help the process, but Dorian batted his hands away.

"Right then, up the ladder, to bed with you," he instructed, and turned to leave, but Cullen grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

"Please stay," he pleaded, and Dorian sighed.

What he would've given to hear those words fall from Cullen's lips.

He stepped closer and raised his hand to Cullen's cheek, then slipped his fingers into his hair, watching him briefly close his eyes at the touch, breathing a sigh. Maker, if he didn't care so much about this man, and didn't care in the slightest of the consequences, he would throw caution to the wind and take him up on that. But this was only the drink talking, he was sure of it, and that thought alone made Dorian dismay.

"I'll tell you what, Commander," he said, and Cullen's eyes fluttered open. "If you can kiss me like that when you're sober, then I might stay."

He left at that, before he grew tempted enough to go back on his word and pull Cullen to him, cursing and grumbling the whole walk back to his quarters. He took the long way around, across the battlements, backtracking towards the Herald's Rest, rather than taking the route through the library and into the Keep. He needed the walk, needed the fresh air to clear his head. He was immaculately sober by the time he reached his bedroom door.

Once inside he slumped against it, banging his head in frustration, then pounding his fist. Dammit, he had it! Right there! In his hands! He had the chance to climb up that ladder with Cullen and kaffas! He turned him down flat! Why?! Why did he do that to himself? When he could've given in, so easily, had exactly what he wanted, what he desperately craved, why did he have to pick now, of all times, to be the better man and say no?

"Don't be stupid, Dorian," Felix's voice rang in his head. "You know why you had to say no."

"Dammit," he cursed, cradling his head.

Because it was the right thing to do.

But oh how that man could make him ridiculously hard! The feel of Cullen's mouth and body on his did haunt him so. The sound of his voice, groaning in his ear…But yes, yes he knew why he had to say no. He would not take advantage of the situation like that. And never did he want to take advantage of Cullen like that either. Praying on the man when he was weak and drunk, ha! He would never be so impertinent, it was beneath him!

But to hear him say those things to him, it drove him mad, and left him flopping down on his bed in annoyance. He knew it was only Cullen's pain and frustration in them, and eventually the novelty of it all would wear off, Cullen would wake up and realize Dorian wasn't what he wanted at all. It was just curiosity. Exploration. It would never be serious. It would never be more. And Dorian wanted all or nothing.

He would never again settle for less.

But he could hear them already, talking, whispering, wondering what they might say, should the rumor pass around Skyhold that Commander Cullen had a moment of weakness and allowed himself to be seduced by an evil, conniving blood mage from Tevinter.

That's what they would say.

He could see it now, but instead of finding that the slightest bit amusing, it just left him feeling angered.

He fell asleep angry that night, and battled rage in his dreams.

While not far off, Cullen battled nightmares of his own.

But back at the Herald's Rest, after patrons had returned to their quarters, or reported in for night watch, and others had long left their company to turn in, Bull and Krem still sat downstairs, reclining in their chairs, propping their boots, sipping their ale. "So what do ya think, Krem?" Bull asked. "How long you think it'll take before the Commander and the pretty Vint realize they're in love with each other, I wonder?"

Krem snorted into his cup. "Cullen and Dorian? Nah, never happen."

"Wanna bet on it?"

"Hmph, what are the stakes?"

"Two weeks, loser buys the rounds."

"You're on," Krem agreed. Bull chuckled.

"You'd better pay up then. Rumor has it, they've already had a go at each other."

"Ah, come off it, Chief, you know better than to believe everything you hear."


	11. Let's Be Honest Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I did a lot of research beforehand to ensure that my elaboration of Lyrium and its effects can still be interpreted as somewhat canon, but I won't lie, I took a few creative liberties with this, in order to show more detail from a clinical aspect. Hope you don't mind.

Cullen woke before the sun, with a severe headache, and a mode of regret.

"Holy Andraste," he groaned when the night flooded back to him, and he rolled over onto his side.

He'd made a complete fool of himself, hadn't he?

Somehow he managed a complete roll, right out of his bed and onto his feet, stumbling across the room to the chamber pot. After what felt like hours of relieving himself, having to lean against the wall for support, he stumbled around in the dim light searching for a clean tunic and his boots, wherever they may be. Then he slowly and carefully descended the ladder and milled about his office.

He didn't feel sick, but Maker was he thirsty.

While he had been drunk enough to wake up with a miserable hangover, he'd not been too drunk to forget the night. It was a blur, mostly, but he remembered briefly suffering shame and embarrassment speaking to Ellana's companions, losing himself in his drink, then stumbling across the battlements with Dorian. And he'd never even considered if any night watch on patrol might have taken notice of them either.

He remembered pressing Dorian against the wall, their heated kiss, his guilt ridden confession, and begging Dorian to stay with him that night. And he remembered what Dorian said to him in parting. _'If you can kiss me like that when you're sober, then I might stay.'_ As he searched his desk drawer for the potions stashed inside, and with a shaking hand dispensed his morning dose of the pain reliever, he thought about those words.

He then perused the papers on his desk, checking if anything had been left for him while he was at the Herald's Rest that might need addressing. Nothing new, save for a letter, Mia's reply to his own and he broke the seal, rubbing his eyes before glancing over the parchment. He could never hear her voice in any of her letters, could only wonder what it sounded like after so many years, but the words were cheerful, and expressed joy over hearing from him.

_Cullen,_

_It's about damned time, little brother! (Well, I suppose I can't call you that anymore with as old as you are, and I'm betting you're twice my size too) I spoke to Bran and Rosie, told them about the letter and they are just as happy as me to hear that you're safe and well. Alright, as safe as you can be, considering you're a soldier, of course, but still. Not a day has gone by that we don't think about you, and of course we worry for you._

_But you seem to be doing well, yes? And that Inquisitor lady, a Dalish elf! So strange, but she sounds interesting. But I really want to hear more about this Dorian friend. Is he really as good as you say at chess? I'd have to see for myself to believe it, between you and me. He sounds wonderful though, and I'm glad to hear you have a friend like him to depend on. It makes me feel better about you being so far away._

_Surprised to hear he's a mage though. Didn't expect that. But times have changed, and I suppose we all have to change with the times. You can't bury yourself in the past. Not healthy, you know. And I'm sure if he's friends with you that means he's one of the good ones, and I needn't worry. But I'll tell you, I've heard some interesting stories about the Inquisition. Some of them are downright confusing. Darkspawn Magisters and a hole in the Fade? Odd._

_Do write back soon. (SOONER THAN LAST TIME)_

_Love, Mia_

Cullen chuckled a little at the last few lines before setting down the paper and sighing. The potion had started to take effect and his headache subsided, but he still felt awful, and not just physically. The things he said and did the night before, while they were the truth, they were inexcusable. He would reprimand another for such behavior, he knew he would. And Dorian? It really wasn't fair to the man, coming onto him like that.

He wasn't sure what ever possessed him to kiss him in the first place. He remembered feeling frustrated, trying to get Dorian to understand just how he felt, and remembered that he himself barely understood it. The only thing he knew was that he had to feel that again, the way it made his heart race, being wrapped up in that kiss, and it felt wonderful. But now that the effects of alcohol wore off, and reality kicked in, he wanted to smack himself.

He didn't want to be with Dorian, did he? He'd never had any interest in men before, never found that sort of thing appealing in any way, so why now did he allow himself to consider it? He should've just been honest from the start, instead of shoving the matter aside, and maybe he might've avoided the conundrum altogether. He and Dorian could laugh about it, how silly of a thought it was, and move on.

He leaned against his desk and groaned at all the mess he'd put himself in.

_'I'm a disaster, Dorian...'_

He truly was. It seemed like every pivotal moment of his life was one disaster after another. And he had work to do that he'd been neglecting. Reports to sign and file, recruits to train, and operations to approve of and get underway. Which meant that any further thought of his frivolous behavior would have to be set aside for now. So after further consideration, Cullen ran fingers through his hair before properly dressing.

His cloak still lay on the desk, but his armor, he noticed, was hung properly on the stand nearby and he floundered. _Maker's breath_ , he cursed. Even for as awfully as he behaved, the mage still had a thought to store away Cullen's armor neatly, rather than string it carelessly about. That always vexed Cullen. How Dorian might speak indignantly, sound like a selfish, conceited, self serving spoiled brat, but yet his behavior was so opposite.

He complained about the climate, how awfully cold and dreary the mountains were, and he bickered about the cheap woolen blankets and linen sheets, yet he tolerated them nonetheless. He moped about the library, yet he'd come running when someone needed assistance, always joking but never actually asking for anything in return. Throwing himself into the Inquisition's fight without delay.

He talked as if he loved the sound of his own voice more than anything, yet when matters of import arose, he was silent. He sounded so selfish, yet he was one of the most selfless people Cullen had ever met. And terribly polite. Though he might've seemed inconsiderate their first meeting, because of the dire urgency of the situation, from that moment onward, Dorian was the epitome of grace that could only come from noble raising, Cullen surmised.

He knocked on doors instead of letting himself in, held them open for others, he said 'please' and 'thank you', and was always considerate of Cullen's opinion on something. He even considered Cullen's stance on his withdrawal, unlike Ellana. Never once did he say, "Just take Lyrium, Cullen." No, his response to it had been care for Cullen's wishes, as well as the need for privacy, but his only argument be that Cullen allow him to assist.

He was a terribly good friend, even if he might be a walking contradiction when he spoke. And the night before, keeping a close eye on Cullen, helping him to his quarters, then refusing to stay when he could have taken advantage of Cullen's ill state? Though he'd made his attraction to Cullen fairly obvious? It said more about the man than anything else, and the Commander was in awe of it, really.

He pushed himself through his morning routine, silently avowing to clear the air between them, and carried on through drills, exercises, morning meetings and daily grievances.

But he didn't see Dorian in the Great Hall at breakfast.

In fact, it wasn't until late that afternoon that he even saw Dorian at all.

When the mage awoke that morning, he groaned and rolled over, not hungover like Cullen was, but he felt awful still. He'd battled rage demons in his sleep, not entirely sure if they were actual demons, or just the memory of fighting demons, but the dreams were too intense to pause to reflect on them. Droves of them attacked, and Dorian was fighting tooth and nail, exhausting his magic upon the creatures.

But when he woke, he understood why. He'd been so infuriated with Cullen, Ellana, and a great many other things, emotions he couldn't quite shake, not even in the Fade. And though his body was rested as well as it could be, his mind was in turmoil still. There would be no resolving those issues yet, it seemed. So Dorian chose instead to ignore them, and carry on about his morning routine, as if nothing were amiss.

But he avoided anyone in the Great Hall at breakfast in favor of seeking the arcanist that turned the blacksmith's Undercroft upside down with her experimental crafts. Dagna was admittedly a delight to speak to, always cheerful and enthusiastic about her work, and equally delighted in listening to Dorian talk about magic, as much as she delighted in the study. Which he always found amusing, given that she was dwarven.

The second the word Lyrium fell from his lips she went on an excited tangent. She didn't even ask _why_ Dorian wanted to know more of Lyrium's effects, and immediately shoved scrolls, loose leafed parchment and books in his face. Apparently she'd been conducting extensive studies and compiling research on the substance and its effects on non-mages to compare to Red Lyrium and its effects.

Templar rites and rituals had always been so secretive, she said, almost as illusive in their application as the private vigils of the Seekers of Truth, but ever since the war, and the Circles' dissolve, more and more information was brought to light. And there were many Templars that joined the Inquisition rather than side with Samson, many Templars in the world that avoided the fighting, that aided in the research.

Aside from the religious aspects of the consumption of Lyrium, there were several physical factors to consider, as Lyrium was not refined for a Templar in a similar manner to the potions mages consumed. And it did not replenish mana nor burn away naturally with the use of it. Instead, non-mages systematically stored Lyrium in their bodies, that acted as a repellent to magic, like armor, but it wasn't burned away.

And it acted like a living entity, she said, latching onto and needing to feed on its host, which was cause for the almost constant consumption of more Lyrium, to maintain that level of energy coursing throughout the body. And also why most Templars would not survive the process of removing it, as normally they would be dead before the Lyrium ran its course. The physical effects alone were torturous enough, and most would give up the prospect.

But when Dorian proposed the idea of a Templar surviving the process, Dagna made note of it, and offered some possible explanations to the oddity, environmental factors that might be the cause. It wasn't until he started inquiring of a way to quickly and safely remove the Lyrium entirely, did she grow curious enough to ask why he wanted to know. It was easy enough to leave Cullen's name out of the conversation, but he did mention _a_ Templar.

And he knew that eventually he'd have to clue the arcanist in as to who specifically if they ever reached a point that they might apply some of this research to a human subject. But for now, an unnamed Templar was withdrawing from Lyrium, and wanted to cease its use altogether. After concluding the discussion with Dagna, he then left for the armory, in search of a certain Seeker of Truth that trained outside.

He had to know more about Cullen's choice to refrain from using Lyrium, and he knew better than to think he'd get any substantial information from the man himself. As well as he really wasn't looking forward to whatever morning after discussion they might have, if anything was said at all about it. Cullen avoided him as much as he avoided Cullen, it seemed, and as the Commander was a busy man, it seemed best to let him for now.

So he accosted the Seeker, who was already hard at work making her training dummies suffer for whatever imagined slight, and asked to speak to her privately. Once seeing his serious expression, she didn't question, and merely motioned for him to follow her up the steps leading to the ramparts and led him to a quiet spot, free of eavesdroppers. She leaned against the wall and gestured for him to proceed.

"The Commander informed me of his decision to stop taking Lyrium," he began quietly, and Cassandra sighed. "And while it's tragically beautiful how the ex Templar has put himself on the path of reform to fight alongside mages rather than war against them, I know there's more to this he's not telling me, and since you recruited him, and you're also instructed to replace him if necessary, I thought to ask you about it."

"It's not my business to discuss it, Dorian," she deflected, and he huffed. "This is a private matter, and you know I will not be privy to gossip!"

"I'm not going to stand idly by while the man tries to kill himself, darling, now spill. Please, I implore you, spill! What do you know about this?"

"I didn't ask why," she spat. "And it is no one's business but the Commander's."

Dorian took a steady breath to remain calm, and simply said, "I managed to convince him to take something for the pain, but the man is living in fear of showing an ounce of weakness in front of our–" _Rude, insipid, brash, childish, spiteful, conniving_... "–Our _curious_ little Inquisitor. I'm told she didn't agree with his decision, and might order him to resume taking it. If he does, Seeker, there might not be hope again of stopping."

Cassandra swallowed upon hearing that. To her, it sounded as if Dorian truly weren't just curious for the sake of gossiping about Cullen, but out of concern for the Commander. And the thought of Ellana forcing him to keep taking Lyrium? But it sounded as if Cullen were already getting the help he needed, from someone who cared enough to respect his wishes, so what more could Dorian possibly want?

"Why did he stop taking it in the first place?" he asked. She wrung her hands, chewing on her lip in thought of it.

"I don't know all the details, but...were you told of Kirkwall?" she asked.

"I've heard the storyteller's version of events, yes."

"Well, I can't say for certain what parts are truth, and what parts are lies, not since Varric told me he knew where Hawke was all along, or...at least it seemed that way. But I can say what Cullen told me about it when I recruited him. His Knight-Commander had been influenced by Red Lyrium, and was paranoid of corruption in the Circle. Cullen followed blindly, unaware of her madness, but when it was brought to light, he and the Champion cut her down.

He blamed himself for the persecution of the mages, as he'd been the one to follow her orders as Knight-Captain, and allowed the Order to fall astray. Here in the south, the Templars are to protect both mages and non-mages from the dangers of magic, but they are not to abuse them to the extent Meredith had. And as much as the Order might have betrayed us all, I think he also feels like he betrayed them as well.

He carries that guilt to this day. I will not say more, for it is none of my concern, only that Cullen believes strongly in our cause, and has more than exceeded my expectations as Commander. And if I can accept that the Maker sent us Ellana Lavellan to close the Breach, and a mage from Tevinter to help us rid the world of Venatori, among many other wild and unpredictable things, I can accept Cullen. And respect his wishes. I will not replace him."

"He doesn't need to be replaced," Dorian told her. "But if he battles this addiction on top of his responsibilities, and some sort of existential crisis of faith, or whatever this is, he might lose that battle."

"Well, at the moment, his faith is in the Inquisition, which satisfies me. And he spoke to you, which means he is moving past whatever self doubt he had in the first place."

"Sounds more like self inflicted punishment," Dorian remarked, and Cassandra shrugged.

"It could be," she said. Dorian took a breath.

"And how do you think he might feel about an experimental procedure involving magic to remove the lingering Lyrium from his body entirely?" he asked.

It was Cassandra's turn to take a breath, before saying, "I think...that's a question for Cullen, not me, Dorian. But I wish you luck. You seem to truly care about all this, and I'm glad. Cullen does not need Lyrium, not to command the Inquisition's forces. I did not ask for a Templar, and neither does the Maker wish for him to be one any longer, I think. But he does need a friend to support him. I'm relieved he has you."

"As am I," he sighed. "Thank you," he added. They parted at that, both the Seeker and the mage left with a mix of feelings following that conversation. Cassandra gave him the blunt truth, that Cullen harbored guilt over matters that transpired long before Dorian ever entered the picture, and suffered from a range of misguided beliefs, such as they were. But if anything, it gave the man character, and gave Dorian more to ponder.

But he still wasn't ready to face the music yet. There was still one other matter that needed tending to, a matter he'd ignored but found preferable to facing the Commander. He found Fiona in the tower, and borrowed her for private discussion on the top floor. The Nightingale, who would no doubt be privy to the conversation eventually anyhow, ignored them for the most part, on the other side at her desk.

He spoke to the Enchanter at length regarding the Cullen's unwillingness to play Knight-Commander with Skyhold's mages, and that any decisions regarding their magical training would ultimately be left up to the Inquisitor herself to address, if they could not reach an understanding on their own. Once hearing this, Leliana stuck her nose into the affair, and added to the discussion.

Then she pulled Dorian aside, after they finished and Fiona parted.

"Is the Commander well?" she asked quietly, a hint of concern shadowing her features. And Dorian wondered just how much the woman knew when he remembered that it was she who caused Dorian to barge into Cullen's office in the first place, when he refused to seek help for his affliction. No doubt she knew everything already, being the woman she was, but for whatever reason saw fit to stay out of it.

"As well as can be," he answered. She nodded at that.

"Good," was all she said, in regards to it, which only left Dorian more confused.

"Is there something you're not telling me, Spymaster?" he inquired.

"Everyone has something to hide, Messere Pavus. But I ask you, is there something you're not telling me?"

He smirked. "Ah, I see. If I were meant to know, you'd tell me, yes?"

"Precisely," she smiled, and wandered back to her desk.

And now, Dorian had run out of important matters to attend to for the time. He could no longer avoid Cullen, and had no more excuses to make. So, once putting on a false ease, he made the walk to Cullen's tower, borrowed journal in hand, and knocked on the door. He opened it when he heard a hesitant, "Enter," to see Cullen standing over his desk, glancing between reports and Dorian as he shut the door.

"Our cheery little dwarven arcanist was kind enough to share some notes she made on Lyrium and its effects," he began, and Cullen rubbed his neck quite nervously. "As it turns out, she's conducted any and all studies she possibly can on normal Lyrium to further her research on Red Lyrium. And she's collected all her treasured thoughts on the subject in this nifty little journal. I was wondering if perhaps when you have the time-"

"Dorian, we need to talk," Cullen sighed, and in turn, the mage snapped closed the journal decisively. "About last night."

"Ah, no, we don't, actually," Dorian corrected. "I'll forgive last night's behavior on account that you were tremendously intoxicated, you don't normally overindulge, and let's leave it at that, shall we? Yes, now, as I was saying-"

"Dorian, I'm so sorry," Cullen interrupted, but Dorian plowed through it, pacing as he spoke.

"-We can't only mask your symptoms without treating the cause, as eventually you'll become immune to anything with enough exposure, like you were those potions I gave you, so I've comprised a list of possible solutions, theories really-"

"Dorian, please, I-"

"-But of course, I'm not going to try anything until I've conducted enough research of my own, and I see first hand the process on a human subject, which we're nowhere close to that stage-"

"Dammit, Pavus, will you shut it?!"

Dorian gaped, slack jawed at that. "How terribly rude."

Cullen groaned, ready to tear his hair out. "Maker's breath, Dorian, I'm trying to talk to you here! Will you just give me a moment to speak? Please? Believe you me, I know how much you love the sound of your own voice, I've heard you go on for hours at a time, but for once, will you please just listen?" Dorian's heart pounded at the exasperation in Cullen's voice, and melted at that pleading look, but outwardly he merely sighed.

"Fine. I'm all ears."

"Thank you...I've been trying to tell you my behavior last night was inexcusable, and I don't know where to start as far as explaining myself, but...Look, I can't ask your forgiveness, Maker knows I probably don't deserve it, but I only ask for understanding. I'm...I'm ashamed to admit that it took me getting drunk to say all those things, but nevertheless they were the truth. Dorian, I meant every word.

And I'm not sure where to go from there, I can't even say what I really want out of all this, or what I'm trying to say in regards to it, but...You are important to me, you should know. You're one of the few friends I can say I actually possess, and you deserved the truth from me. I just regret I didn't speak of those things sooner. And besides, if I can't be honest with you, who can I be honest with?"

"Yourself, perhaps," Dorian suggested. "That's always a start, isn't it?"

Cullen swallowed. "I suppose it is, yes."

"Well, you do that then," Dorian told him. "And I'll be honest with you." He stepped closer to the desk, balling his free hand into a fist, while the other gripped Dagna's journal so tightly his knuckles were white, though his voice was exceedingly calm as he spoke. "I will not be the tool to slate your sudden curiosity, Commander. I will not be toyed with like some amusing little dwarven puzzle box. I am not some shiny trinket in a novelty shop."

"Dorian, I would never-"

"Too right, you would never, because I will not allow it. If I wanted to be treated like a plaything, I would run home to Tevinter, let my family dress me up and put me on display. And neither should you be taken advantage of, Commander. Now, since you speak so highly of me as your friend, then I ask, are you going to allow me to help you, and fill you in on all the details of Dagna's research? Or shall I be on my way?"

That stretch of silence following Dorian's words was _agonizing_.

But finally, after consideration, Cullen gestured to the reports on his desk. "I have work to finish here, but we will speak of this later," he said. Perhaps a bit harsher than intended. Maker knew he didn't want to lash out at Dorian, but the mage only quirked a brow at his stiff response and then slowly nodded. Another moment of silence, as hazel eyes stared back at Cullen's brown, expression unreadable.

"I'll leave you to it," he said, then turned to exit Cullen's tower without so much as a glance in parting.

When he left, Cullen just stood there for a moment, before his mind finally caught up with his emotions and he slammed his fist down on the desk, upsetting the documents perched atop. Then he paced, back and forth, smearing a hand across his face, trying to untangle all the confusion but coming up short. Dammit, what did he expect?! Did he honestly think things would be so easily resolved and everything could go back to normal?

It happened, and there was no erasing it from Cullen's mind.

And Cullen honestly didn't know what he wanted from Dorian.

_'Be honest with yourself,'_ had been Dorian's advice.

Maker, if the man only knew how much Cullen struggled with that very task each and every day.

But if he were to be honest, he wouldn’t say it was Ellana Lavellan that kept him up at night, and plagued his every thought. It was the man that walked through that door.

Perhaps it was high time he face that fact, and stop lying to himself.

Be _honest_ with himself, for once in his life.

And honestly?

Cullen was afraid–absolutely _petrified_ –of everything changing.

But everything already had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't it kind of cute how even though Dorian pointedly avoided Cullen, he still wasn't actually avoiding him really? Because he's still trying to help him, so Cullen's always on the brain. XD


	12. Loss Of Good Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for angst, sudden and unexpected bursting into Cullen's office, meddling clerics, and Edward De Vere.

"Can Dagna even keep a secret?" Cullen asked incredulously, leaning back in the chair at his desk, while Dorian sat across from him, and the two had finally discussed at length the details of the arcanist's findings.

They had talked of nothing else the past three days, in between work and other distractions, both fairly well forgetting their argument the other day had ever occurred.

It was monotonous, for Dorian to pretend like nothing happened, but he felt he had to. And he hated shutting Cullen out, hated that he couldn't just be frank with the man, but he would not allow the Commander to harbor any misconceptions about him. He would not be used, and neither would Cullen. And Dorian was quite certain that if the two were to become entangled, that's all it would be.

It would be a distraction, an amusement, a curiosity, but nothing more. If the Commander was even remotely interested in exploration with a man, then he could find someone else, and leave Dorian out of the picture. Because the thought of Cullen realizing Dorian wasn't what he wanted, the thought of being rejected, it hurt him to imagine. He'd been an amusement in the past, a fling, a dalliance behind closed doors, but no more.

And so had the men he'd encountered, because he knew it would never be more, and better to use them to suit his own needs, fulfill his own desires, then mercilessly shove them out the door rather than allow them to hurt him. But it had been preferable to hiding, to pretending, to keeping up appearances to appease his family. To have his affairs, to have the physical comforts he craved, and be who he wanted.

He could never use Cullen like that, and the prospect of such seemed rather dismal.

He could never hurt Cullen, and he knew he would. Was it not better to be friends? Was it not better to suffer the cold reality rather than indulge in a fanciful dream, then wake up to realize it was over and part ways? He could never be what Cullen wanted. He knew that. And he'd sooner have meaningless sex with strangers to pass his time than ever indulge Cullen, then watch their friendship suffer for it.

So it was better to just be that friend that currently wished to discuss the topic of Cullen's withdrawal. Because he did very much wish to see Cullen succeed.

On the one hand, it seemed as if he had a great chance at success already, considering how long he'd survived without Lyrium, but as Dorian reminded, there was still a risk continuing as he had been with only refraining from taking it, rather than removing it altogether. But Dagna was the only other one they knew at Skyhold who was readily available to assist and had the most experience working with Lyrium.

And Cullen had asked if she could keep a secret. Dorian huffed. "I think the better question to ask is…can she keep it a secret from the Inquisitor?" Dorian countered, rubbing his chin. "I don't trust informing Ellana of the procedure until after the fact maybe. She may not agree with the decision, think it far greater of a risk, and force you to do something you don't want to do, that you really _shouldn't_ do, Cullen."

"I'm not even sure about doing this, Dorian," Cullen admitted, rubbing his eyes. "What if it doesn't work? What if it only makes it worse?"

"That is why we take every precaution first to ensure success, Cullen. You think I'm mad enough to let that maniacal little genius in the Undercroft anywhere near you with something sharp, pointy, enchanted, or otherwise magical in nature before we're ready? And besides, it's only one option of many, or we could do nothing at all. It's an _idea_ , Commander. Ideas are explored extensively before they become application."

Cullen drummed his fingers on the desk.

Dorian sighed, then leaned forward in his seat.

"It took Alexius years to compile research on time alteration before we ever reached a stage of development, let alone application. And if you remember, Commander, even then I was against it. Why? Well, that should be obvious. Unraveling the fabric of the Fade? But even so, it worked. Alexius changed time around us. But, not before the years of research and experimentation it took before ultimately reaching any sort of breakthrough."

"You never did tell me about that," Cullen remarked offhand. "About what it was like in this future you saw."

"It was dark, disgusting, and you're changing the subject again."

Cullen groaned. "Oh, I don't know, Dorian. This is...this is nothing I've ever heard of. Removing Lyrium from a person with magic? It sounds...it just sounds like lunacy, really."

"It's theory, and many theories start out sounding quite deranged, until they're proven fact. Then? Well, you have time magic, tears in the Fade, darkspawn Magisters trying to take over the world, and Cassandra Pentaghast reading Varric's smutty literature."

Cullen actually chuckled a little at that, then ran his hand through his hair. Dorian smirked a little, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He was angry still. But Maker if Cullen didn't look incredibly handsome just then. And it left him conflicted. On the one hand, leaping across the desk and stripping Cullen out of his armor sounded appealing, but on the other, so did leaping across the desk and strangling him.

But he chose neither of those options and instead pretended to be completely unaffected by Cullen and engaged the Commander in a much needed discussion. Why? Because Cullen needed that more. More than he needed to figure out his feelings regarding Dorian, he needed to move forward with his life first, and make it through his withdrawal. The downside to being a good friend, Dorian supposed.

"Point being, Commander, it may sound fantastical, but it _could_ be a possibility for you. Nevertheless, I wouldn't allow you to take such a risk until I was certain it will work. I'm only asking if you'll allow me to explore the idea."

"So what happens after?" Cullen asked, when it occurred to him. "Is everything just...fine, after that? Do I just stop thinking about it, or...will I still want Lyrium?"

"Now that, I can't answer for you. That all depends on you, Commander. But you should know, I spoke to Cassandra." Cullen tensed only slightly at that, but he did lick his lips apprehensively. "She has assured me, you do not need Lyrium to command her Inquisition, Cullen. That will not be asked of you. So the decision is yours to make. But before you make it, take the time to think it over."

Cullen sighed and leaned into the armrest, kneading his brow. On the one hand, Dorian made it sound so easy, but on the other...Cullen couldn't quite bring himself to consider the idea of a mage using magic on him. It wasn't as if Dorian proposed blood magic, Maker forbid, though he couldn't be sure what it was really. As far as he knew, no one had ever done anything like that before. And it sounded almost impossible to think of.

The Lyrium in Cullen's blood functioned to _resist_ magic, so there was a very good chance of the idea backfiring. But, as Dorian said, it was just an idea. One option. And he trusted Dorian. He would always trust Dorian. Ironic as that sounded, that Cullen would trust the one person in Skyhold the world accused of being a blood mage, who was the one person Cullen trusted with his life. But he knew better now. He knew better than to take anything at face value.

Much less Dorian Pavus.

This was difficult for Cullen as well. This whole 'pretend it never happened' thing they were doing. But perhaps it was better this way. Anything Cullen could say in regards to it might only succeed in making matters worse. And he didn't want to lose his closest friend. But surely Dorian could understand his struggle. Maker's breath, he'd never had feelings like this for another man before. He'd never imagined he ever would.

This was a lot to process.

"So who else must know about this, aside from Dagna?" Cullen inquired, trying to keep focused on the topic at hand. Dorian quirked a brow in thought of it.

"A healer, of course, as a precaution. I'd recommend someone with experience in both magical healing techniques, as well as mundane. Also someone who won't go running to Ellana if we even so much as propose the idea." Solas came to mind.

"I don't like this," Cullen said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Hiding things from the Inquisitor. It doesn't seem right."

"Tit for tat, Commander. If we were hiding Red Templars in the cellar, I might share your concern," Dorian told him. "This is not a task for the 'Herald', Cullen. This is a matter quite personal to you. And if you ask me, she never should've been made aware of it in the first place. There is a reason the Inquisition's council of advisers exists, yes? Because you can't very well allow Ellana Lavellan whole and complete control, can you?"

"That's different."

"Yes, well, that's tyranny, and we both know that with absolute power comes absolute disaster. And this is not something Ellana should be presiding over, Cullen, you know this."

"She is our Inquisitor," Cullen reminded. "I could not keep such things from her. Not if it's something that affects my duties. Should I fail her, would it not be better for her to expect it in advance?"

Dorian rolled his eyes. "Must you share every aspect of your life with her then?" he asked. Cullen shifted in his seat again, but didn't argue. "Precisely. We all have our secrets. Some are self preservation, and some are kept to preserve others. Otherwise how would we explain Leliana's existence? At any rate, we'll wait and see if something becomes of this before we go running off to notify anyone. You simply focus on your work, and let me handle the inquiries."

"Yes sir," Cullen quipped at Dorian's authoritative tone. Dorian smirked.

"It's for your own good, Commander," he said, and Cullen reluctantly agreed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have battlemage training to oversee."

Yes, that's what became of that argument. Fiona and Vivienne came to a head, both elected Dorian to assist them in training some of the apprentices in offensive techniques, and they would alternate between magic and mundane training with the other recruits. As far as any non-mages might be concerned with the use of the training yard and "dangerous mages flashing fire", Lysette agreed to stay on hand to diffuse, and put minds at ease.

But she was only a precaution, should something get out of hand, though her presence also put many mages at ease. Dorian always found that odd, how though a southern Templar could be lethal to mages, and many of them rebelled against these "Templar oppressors", many more of them still were actually comforted by the presence of a Templar. But, then again, many of them hardly trusted themselves. Something for Dorian to work on, he supposed.

At any rate, he almost laughed when both Enchanters approached him about the matter. He remembered the conversation still, in the sitting room above the Great Hall, where often Lady Vivienne liked to have her tea. In the _politest_ fashion, both women agreed that should they have to choose between putting their trust in a Tevinter blood mage and allowing the Inquisitor to make the decision? They'd sooner trust the blood mage.

Sadly, the Inquisitor had very little tact when it came to the politics of their institution.

And Dorian was more likely to remain objective, and unbiased, than either one of them, so they handed him the reigns. With only the request that he refrain from teaching the mages any sort of forbidden magic, and abide by southern laws. From that moment on, Dorian would act as First Enchanter of Skyhold, with both Fiona and Vivienne at his heel. He despised the title, but denoted it to being more like the proprietor of a college.

At present, he rose from his seat in Cullen's office, and made to leave, to see to that much neglected duty. "Just think about what I said, Cullen."

"I will," Cullen nodded. But he opened his mouth as if there were still something he wanted to say. Dorian paused to hear the man. He sighed. "Can I steal you for chess later?" he asked.

Dorian toyed with the ring on his finger, before saying brightly, "Certainly. Wouldn't want you to lose your edge, now would we? After all, what better way to prepare for war than practice?"

Cullen chuckled. "I wish this war were that easy," he said.

"So don't we all," Dorian agreed, then left Cullen's office.

The Commander leaned back in his seat after Dorian left, having much to think about. He thought perhaps to speak to Cassandra about it, see what she had to say, as Dorian mentioned having approached her about Cullen's Lyrium withdrawal.

He really wasn't expecting Dorian to come bursting back into his office some minutes later, scaring the fur right off his mantle. "Maker's breath, Pavus!" he exclaimed, clutching his chest while a distracted Dorian was locking his door. He then proceeded to turn and lock both side doors that led to the battlements. As Cullen was rising from his desk, Dorian was looking around, as if checking to make sure there were no others, then nodded to himself.

"What are you doing?!" Cullen then asked, as Dorian climbed the ladder to his loft. His private quarters at that.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Commander, I'm hiding!" he said, and Cullen approached to peer up the ladder. "Oh this is just awful, Cullen, even for you," he heard the mage say. No doubt talking about the state of his room.

"Why are you hiding, exactly?" Cullen asked, too confused to make sense of this strange behavior.

But up the ladder, Dorian was too busy looking around the sparsely decorated room. And the hole in the roof! Kaffas, no wonder his office was always so drafty! Light poured in from the neglected section of the room, onto a bed beneath it, a nightstand, a washbasin, and a chest nearby. But there was little else, and there were even loose boards he had to step around that had never been removed.

It honestly looked like no one but Cullen had ever been up here since they arrived at Skyhold, and Cullen had only ever slept on the bed, but never spent time up here otherwise. Which was believable, considering how glued to his desk he was all day long. But there was a book on the nightstand, making Dorian curious. He never knew Cullen to read. Of course he could read, but in his spare time?

And just what was it that interested Cullen in the dead of night when he couldn't sleep? A strategy book? History maybe?

"Dorian will you get down here?" he heard, as he approached the nightstand and examined the cover. It was familiar to him. A book he'd read in fact. Could it perhaps be the very same copy? It had been missing from the library for quite some time, and Dorian had been furious, not knowing who to blame for the theft. He ran his fingers over the tome, almost wanting to laugh. Poetry! Cullen read poetry!

He flipped it open to see a small tear in the first page. Months ago, one of the borrowers had dropped it, and it left that mark. Dorian remembered it. What were the odds that he and the Commander read the very same book? Extraordinary. He flipped to the place Cullen had bookmarked to read the first line of the poem. "Oh Cullen," he sighed quietly, but then closed the book upon hearing the knock on the door downstairs.

Cullen had been prepared to ascend the ladder and drag Dorian out of his room when he heard the jiggling of a handle that wouldn't turn, a sigh of exasperation, followed by a hesitant knock. "Commander?" a distinctly Orlesian accent called.

He unlocked and opened the door. "Mother Giselle," he greeted, opening the door wider to allow her entry. "Uhm, please, come in."

With grace and dignity she entered and eyed the room. "Apologies for my intrusion, Commander, but have you seen Messere Pavus?"

"Uh–no, um, I haven't actually," he said, absently rubbing his neck, curious to all end why Dorian would be hiding from a harmless cleric.

"Ah, well, no matter," she said. "But...I had hoped to speak with you as well."

"Is something wrong?" Cullen asked, coming around to his desk, as Mother Giselle also moved to stand before it, folding her hands together in front of her, regarding Cullen with slight unease.

"I had thought to approach the Inquisitor upon her return about this, but...considering how close you are with Messere Pavus, perhaps it would be better to speak with you. It is a personal matter."

"Oh?" he said, consciously aware that the man they spoke of was just up the ladder, hearing this. Mother Giselle nodded.

"I have been in contact with his family, House Pavus, out of Qarinus. You are familiar with them, I assume?"

"He's...mentioned them, yes. Though they don't seem to be on good terms. What is this about, Revered Mother?"

She sighed. "I received letters from them, regarding Messere Pavus. In their letters, they described the estrangement of their son, and have asked for my aid. They wish to arrange a meeting. Quietly. Without telling him. They fear it's the only way he'll come. Since you seem to be on good terms with the young man, I'd hoped..." She gazed up at the Commander quite hopefully just then, and Cullen ran a hand through his hair.

"You'd hoped I would arrange everything," he guessed, and she nodded. "Where are these letters? May I see them?" he asked, concerned about Dorian's family wanting a secret meeting, thinking it might be some sort of trap, of some kind. Out of her sleeve, Giselle pulled the latest letter, handing it out to Cullen to glance over. It was of fine quality, with expensive gold leaf lettering, addressed to Giselle personally.

_Your Reverence,_

_I understand that you feel inadequate to the task of bringing Dorian to a secret meeting. Even in the asking, I find it difficult to believe myself. Considering my son has rebuffed all contact, this is the only way. I know my son; he would be too proud to come if he knew–even just to talk. That is all we wish to do. The thought of Dorian in the south, placing himself in the path of such danger, alarms us more than I can express._

_If this somehow succeeds, we have a family retainer at the Vandral Hills, watching for Dorian's arrival. He will bring the boy to us, somewhere private. If Dorian utterly refuses to go with him, it ends there. And there is nothing we can do. We are at our wit's end._

_Graciously yours,_

_Magister Halward of House Pavus_

Cullen sighed and dropped the letter on his desk after reading, reaching up to rub his temples. He'd never pressed for details Dorian wasn't willing to give, but he'd always suspected the man had a reason for cutting off contact with his family. _'If I wanted to be someone's plaything, I'd run back home to Tevinter, and let my family dress me up and put me on display!'_ Cullen didn't know what to say.

"Well, I'm not about to trick Dorian into meeting with this family retainer of theirs, if that's what you're thinking," he groused. She shook her head.

"I would know better than to think you would ever betray someone's trust like that, Commander," she said. "But this is his family. Surely there is something you can do. Perhaps you could convince him to meet with them. Or perhaps you might accompany him on the journey? It would be far better for all those involved if there were some measure of closure, I think. And perhaps it might be better achieved in person."

"All things considered, Revered Mother, I'm not sure that's a good idea. There is obviously a reason Dorian hasn't spoken to his family. And whatever it is, it's not my business. If he wishes to meet them, than he shall. But I'm not going to force him. And if it's a matter that might be of concern to the Inquisition, then I'm sure Dorian would've told me. I doubt he would keep us in the dark if we need concern ourselves with it."

Giselle sighed. "I see," she said. "Well, then if there is no hope to convince you, perhaps I will wait for the Inquisitor's return from Emprise Du Lion. Good day, Commander."

Giselle bowed politely and left Cullen's office as quietly and gracefully as she'd entered. Cullen sighed, rubbing his neck, eyes on the gilded letter on his desk. "You can come down now," he said, and faintly heard a sigh. There was a pause before he heard shuffling around up above. It sounded as if he'd been crouching on the floor next to the hatch to listen. Another huff, then Dorian finally climbed down, clutching a book.

Cullen's eyes widened when he saw it. "I have been looking for this everywhere, you know," Dorian told him, with a falsely chipper tone, holding up the book. "Had I known you were the culprit all along, I would've snooped around your quarters a lot sooner. Poetry is what tickles the Commander's fancy then?"

"I would swear it's not mine, but considering where you found it," Cullen sighed. Dorian grinned.

"Yes, well, it's back where it belongs now."

"Wait, what? But I haven't finished it!"

"And neither have I," Dorian countered. "And it's the only copy at Skyhold, so I'm afraid you'll have to suffer until I'm finished reading it myself."

"That's hardly fair," Cullen groaned. Then he got an idea. "How about we play for it. Winner gets it first. You did promise a match this afternoon, after all."

"Quite attached to it, I see."

"Yes, well, it helps me fall asleep. I...have trouble falling asleep at times," Cullen admitted. "It's something light to read that relaxes me."

Dorian chuckled. "Yes, because surely our steely Commander isn't secretly tender hearted in any way, now is he?" Cullen blushed a little, to Dorian's delight. Then he watched as Cullen furiously massaged the back of his neck. "Let me see the letter," he said then, causing Cullen to eye him confusedly. Until common sense kicked in and Cullen handed him the letter from his family. He tisked as soon as he saw the handwriting.

He traded the book for the letter from Halward Pavus, and paced as he read it.

"I know my son?!" he said aloud after he read. "What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble! This is so typical! I'm willing to bet this retainer is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter!" Cullen snorted. "My thanks, by the way, for not agreeing to Mother's Giselle's proposal and leading me like a lamb off to slaughter right into my family's 'open arms'."

Cullen scratched his head in thought. "So you wouldn't even consider talking to them? I'm only curious."

Dorian did consider that for a moment. "I'll go to Redcliffe, Commander," he said after a moment of thought. "But only because I'm curious to all end as to what my father could possibly be thinking trying to trap me like this. And you're coming with me." He blinked. "Or...well, you could, I meant to say. If it's a trap, we escape and kill everyone. If it's not, then I can tell my father's retainer precisely what I think of his patron."

"I'll arrange everything with the other advisers then," Cullen told him. "Rylen isn't due to embark for the Exalted Plains for another week, so he can handle my duties here. Though I would prefer to err on the side of caution and leave with a full armed escort, but perhaps some of Leliana's agents could be sent ahead. Or if you'd just prefer to leave it up to the Ambassador to, I don't know, 'politely decline' the request altogether."

"I _do_ love how polite she is," Dorian remarked, and then just stood dumbfounded before Cullen. "You would really do that? You would drop everything to go to Redcliffe with me? Even go so far as to wrangle up all your soldiers on my behalf?"

"Of course."

Dorian blinked repeatedly in shock.

He could have kissed the man. He certainly wanted to. He knew how good that felt.

"Well, how about just the two of us then. No sense in wasting all that valiant effort over what's likely nothing anyway."

"If you'd prefer," Cullen agreed. "Just give me the rest of the afternoon to make the necessary arrangements, then we'll leave whenever you're ready."

"Alright then," Dorian nodded, then glanced at the book in Cullen's hand. "Don't lose that," he said. Cullen chuckled.

"I wouldn't dare lose something of such value to you," he quipped, but it was only half sarcasm. Dorian smiled, then turned to leave the office.

On the way out the door, he said, "Thank you, Commander."

Cullen nodded once, then sighed when the door was closed behind Dorian. He glanced at the book in his hand, then flipped to the page he had marked. He bit his lip a little before he recited it aloud.

"... _Framed in the front of all forlorn hope past all recovery,_  
_I stayless stand, to abide the shock of shame and infamy._  
_My life, though lingering long, is lodged in the lair of loathsome ways,_  
_My death delayed to keep from life the harm of hapless days._  
_My strength, my heart, my wit and force, in deep distress are drowned,_  
_The only loss of my good name is of these griefs the ground._  
_And since my mind, my wit, my head, my voice and tongue are weak,_  
_To utter, move, devise, conceive, sound forth, declare and speak._  
_Such piercing plants as answer might, or would my woeful case,_  
_Help crave I must, and crave I will, with tears upon my face,_  
_Of all that may in City or Void, in earth or air be found,_  
_To wail with me this loss of mine, as of these griefs the ground_..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem Cullen recites is an excerpt of 'Loss Of Good Name' by Edward De Vere (public domain), hence the chapter title; "of all that may in heaven or hell" has been altered to "of all that may in City or Void" to reflect the Dragon Age universe, also fifth line was altered because the original wording sounded off-kilter. I just couldn't resist inserting a scene of Cullen reading poetry. Love me or hate me for it, but it's out there.


	13. Last Resort Of Good Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for all the angst in these chapters so far, by the way. I realized that since this obviously isn't a Gay Cullen fic, nor is it even a Bi Cullen fic, but in fact an attempt to pay homage to the already wonderfully complex character as he'd been scripted, I knew that after 30 years of being fairly secure in his sexuality, Cullen would be reluctant to just jump right in bed with Dorian after one kiss, and so would Dorian. They would both be scared of this.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.
> 
> -SB

Cullen took the liberty of calling upon the other advisers to join him in the War Room and discuss meeting a representative of House Pavus in Redcliffe, at a secure location. Leliana said absolutely nothing to Cullen and Dorian going alone, just the two of them, but he could almost see the gears turning in her head. Though Josephine had plenty to say about the matter. Mostly that it could be dangerous, more so without taking precaution.

But neither argued against it.

Meanwhile Dorian notified Fiona of the change in plans, that he would be delayed in beginning instruction with the mages, as he was leaving Skyhold to tend to a very important personal matter, and would need to be excused. Then there was the matter of packing, taking care of any final business before parting, you know, just in case he died, or something. And stocking up on potions and other healing items for Cullen's headaches and such.

A forty-five minute argument with the potions master, a half hour of fretting, a fifteen minute raid of the kitchens, and a ten minute goodbye, then they were off, at a moment's notice, their destination the Gull And Lantern Inn at Redcliffe Village. Two armored steeds embarked, and Dorian thanked the Maker Cullen preferred horses and not those ridiculous exotic breeds Ellana was always fond of carting to Skyhold.

While the harts were breathtakingly beautiful and graceful creatures, nothing screams "I'm trying to take over the world!" like a Tevinter Altus dressed in black battlemage armor, riding into town on a clawed, fanged, scaly dracolisk. Though it was humorous to ponder. When he mentioned this to Cullen, the man burst into laughter, startling the horses, causing him to nearly fall off his own. Maker bless that man.

Though the remainder of the ride through the mountain pass was exceedingly dull. They were recognized by the occasional passerby, as most who traveled the road were Inquisition agents, soldiers returning from abroad, or supply caravans. They got the occasional nod or salute, but there was little in the way of distraction. They mostly passed the time by playing mental chess, or Dorian teasing Cullen about his secret love for poetry.

It wasn't quite as scandalous as the Seeker's guilty pleasures, though equally as amusing.

But the closer they got to Redcliffe, the quieter Dorian became, until conversation ceased altogether at the Crossroads, when they stopped to water the horses. They took the East Road after that straight into Redcliffe Village, and it was dark and gloomy when they arrived. Dorian hadn't been back there since first meeting Ellana in the Chantry just up the hill. He had to admit it was strange to see it without flocks of southern mages or time rifts.

It was a ghost town, particularly quiet for some reason, though both expected droves of people flitting about the tavern and bustling noise within. But there were only guardsmen about, patrolling the empty streets, the townsfolk locked up inside their homes. No music played in the Gull And Lantern, and it was as quiet as could be. Cullen and Dorian shared a wary glance before dismounting and tying up the horses.

Dorian's staff was latched to his back, ready to pull at a moment's notice, as Cullen's gloved hand was ever present on the hilt of his sword when they entered the ghostly inn.

It was empty. Completely empty. Not a patron to be found. "Uh-oh, nobody's here, this doesn't bode well," Dorian remarked, as they looked around.

But as they did so, a man was descending the stairs, however. "Dorian," greeted the man, and Dorian paled. Considerably, given his dark complexion.

Cullen was still gripping the pommel of his sword tightly, eyes on the man, that slowly widened in realization when he heard Dorian say, "Father."

Well, that couldn't be good.

"So the whole story about the family retainer was just, what, a smokescreen?" Dorian asked.

"Then you were told," Halward Pavus sighed, and slowly approached, giving Cullen a better look at the man. He greatly resembled his son, same hair, same skin, similar eyes, though older obviously, and dressed in fanciful Tevinter style robes. If anyone ever confused Dorian for being a Magister, there would be no confusion once seeing Halward Pavus. His appearance was every bit what one would expect from one of his status.

A gloomy expression passed over Dorian before turning to Cullen, eyes spotting the unmistakable symbol of the flaming sword on his cloak. "Inquisition," he greeted. "My apologies for the deception. I never meant for you to be involved."

"Of course not," Dorian scowled. "Magister Pavus couldn't come to Skyhold and be seen in the company of the dread Inquisition. What would people think?...What is this exactly, father? Ambush? Kidnapping? 'Warm family reunion'?"

Halward sighed at his son's derision. "This is how it has always been."

Cullen took that moment to interject, and speak. "Perhaps some formalities are in order," he said. "Cullen Rutherford," he then proffered. "Commander of the Inquisition's forces. And I would very much like to know what your intentions are, here. Why did you arrange this meeting?"

"Yes, go on, tell him, father!" Dorian spat. "Tell him why you tricked him into riding up here in the first place!"

Halward sighed again, and held up his hands defensively, saying, "I only wished to talk, Dorian."

"Talk! Ha! No, no I don't think you did. You mean to drag me back to Tevinter to string me up and parade me around like your puppet!"

"Dorian-" Halward intervened, but Dorian was furious, shooting the man a heated glare. Cullen touched his shoulder lightly.

"What is all this about?" he asked Dorian. The Altus glanced at him. "Considering the deception to get you here, I don't blame your anger. But I don't understand." He turned to Halward. "What have you done?"

"What has he done?" Dorian asked, with an airy laugh that made Cullen more nervous than his anger did. "I'll tell you what his problem is. It's quite simple really. He doesn't approve of me preferring the company of men." Oh. Well, from Cullen's perspective, that wasn't all that surprising, considering men typically didn't marry one another, and he did remember Dorian mentioning once that he refused to marry his arranged betrothed, but...

What in the Maker's name warranted all this?

"I still don't understand," Cullen shook his head. "Just because you prefer men, why should that warrant this rift between you, exactly? Do people try to kill one another in Tevinter over this?"

Dorian chuckled. "Not quite, but just wait, it get's better," he said.

"Dorian, this display is uncalled for," said Halward.

"No, it _is_ called for," he spat. "You called for it by luring me here!"

"This was not what I wanted," Halward swore.

"I'm never what you wanted! Or had you forgotten?!"

Cullen sighed, kneading his brow, feeling a headache arising but it hardly mattered at the moment. Getting to the bottom of this was more imperative. He took his hand off the hilt of his sword in order to reach out and gently pull Dorian back, as he'd edged closer to Halward in a threatening manner during the argument. Dorian wrenched his arm away, not angry at Cullen though, just angry, and he didn't take a step toward Halward.

"I am sorry for this, Commander," Halward told Cullen. "Please, I only wished to speak to my son. If you would allow me that courtesy. I swear, he will not be harmed-"

"Be that as it may, sir," Cullen interrupted. "Whether or not you asked for the Inquisition's involvement in this, Dorian Pavus is an agent of the Inquisition, and where it concerns matters of his safety, it is my duty to be involved. He was expecting an attack. Why? What cause has he to fear for his safety where his family is concerned? I demand an explanation, and I'm not leaving this room until I get one."

Halward looked away. He knew very well why Dorian feared for his safety. And he regretted ever allowing his son to have that fear in the first place. But how could he explain himself to this southerner? "You want an explanation, Cullen? I'll give you one," Dorian spat, eyeing Halward still. "Here's a fun fact: Every family in Tevinter inter-marries to instill the perfect mage. Perfect body, perfect mind, the perfect leader.

It means every perceived flaw–every aberration–is deviant and shameful. It must be hidden." He stepped closer to Halward, but Cullen was too focused on his words to really stop him. "He taught me to _hate_ blood magic!" he said, pointing a finger at Halward. " _'The resort of the weak mind'_. Those are _his_ words! But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life?!"

 _Oh no, say it isn't so,_ Cullen thought.

"You tried to change me!" Dorian shrieked at Halward, and Cullen's blood ran cold.

"You tried to use blood magic on your own son?" Cullen asked between his teeth when he realized what Dorian implied, but Halward only sighed. And meanwhile, Cullen's hand had returned to the hilt of his sword. It was reflexive, at this point, his reaction to the words that fell from his lips. And a chill snaked down his spine, followed by seething anger. But he was caught, torn between several factors that kept him frozen in place.

He wasn't a Templar anymore. He didn't feel the swell of Lyrium in his blood, ready to aid him in the act, quite like he used to. And this was Dorian's father standing before him, not Alexius who had been Dorian's mentor, and not Corypheus himself. But a man that shared a likeness to the one Cullen had come to care for, and he flexed his jaw. He may have been a Magister, but what excuse could Cullen make if he were to cut him down right there?

There was no evidence, no proof, was there? It was only an accusation. It was past tense. Not present.

And presently, what would he accomplish, exactly? It wasn't as if Halward stood with a blade in his hand, ready to slit his wrist at any moment. He didn't even have a staff. Not that he wasn't dangerous, but he was in every other way disarmed. Attempting to lay his heart bare before his son, it seemed like. Bloody Void, the man probably wouldn't even put up a fight. He'd probably just let Cullen cut him open, and quietly accept the justice.

And Cullen wasn't the man he used to be. So he stayed put. But he didn't let go of the sword.

If he made so much as one move against Dorian, this would get ugly.

"I-I only wanted what was best for you," he said to Dorian, and Cullen's eyes narrowed.

"No, you wanted what was best for you! And your _fucking_ legacy!" Dorian seethed in his face. "Anything for that!...Tell me why I should've even bothered to come!"

"If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition-"

"You didn't! I joined the Inquisition because it's the right thing to do! Once, I had a father who would've known that."

Halward looked away in shame. Dorian was right. As much as he would like to think otherwise, Dorian was a stranger to him now. He really didn't know his own son, did he? And everything he thought he knew, it suddenly didn't matter anymore. But all he wanted was Dorian. He'd learned long ago that it would matter not what he did, nor what he accomplished, if his only son was a stranger to him.

He loved Dorian so much that he'd become blinded by that love.

And here Dorian stood now. Strong, proud, unbroken, assured, and whole.

Indeed, a better man than Halward had ever been.

"Once, I had a son who trusted me," he said. "A trust I betrayed. I only wanted to talk to him to hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me."

There was a stretch of silence to follow his words.

Cullen watched all this take place with a keen eye, terribly keen without Lyrium or anything else to cloud it. He would not leave Dorian alone with this man if he could help it, but even he couldn't deny that it was not his place to intervene any longer. This was Dorian's father, Dorian's decision to make if he wanted to hear the man out, to talk this over, or to just walk away now, and wash his hands of Halward Pavus.

He sighed. "Do you want to stay?" he asked Dorian. "Do you want to talk to him?"

Dorian met his gaze. It hadn't escaped the mage's notice how awfully tense Cullen had been throughout the whole thing, and how it clearly took every ounce within him to not pull out his sword and gut his father right then and there. Especially when Dorian mentioned blood magic. But he was patiently waiting for Dorian to decide. He would not act otherwise. He was here to secure Dorian's safety, and here as a friend.

But he wasn't here to make decisions for him.

He _trusted_ Dorian. Maker, if only he could understand how relieved that made Dorian feel. To be trusted. To not be judged. Not once did Cullen take Halward's side and say, _'Well yes, you should be ashamed of yourself for liking men, you should run home to Tevinter, let them doll you up and marry you off to someone you will only despise the rest of your life. You should be miserable, Dorian, and your father's legacy will always matter more.'_

Nope. Said nothing of the sort. Kept his opinion to himself.

He turned to face his father. "We'll talk," he finally agreed. "But maybe only because I'd like to scream at you some more," he added, though quietly. Halward actually snorted a little.

"I would prefer that to silence," he said. Then he looked to Cullen, who still stood there by the door. He watched with curiosity as the Commander stepped toward Dorian, and glanced back and forth between them.

"Shall I wait outside?" he asked Dorian, who sighed a little, and nodded. "I'll be just on the other side of that door. Call for me, if you have need."

He squeezed Dorian's shoulder briefly, before parting, leaving Halward alone in the tavern with his son. Dorian clicked his tongue. "Well, now I can't really think of anything to scream at you," he moped.

"Is he your..." Halward attempted to ask. Dorian glanced back at the door.

"My lover?" Dorian asked. "Go on, you can say it. You meant to ask if he's my lover. An interesting idea. Not that it's anyone's business, much less yours, but no. He's a friend."

"He seems to truly care for you," Halward remarked. "I'm...I'm glad for that. I did not expect you to be accepted as you are, here in the south."

"Surprising, is it?" Dorian asked, folding his arms, lingering near the door still, though he was considerably tired and desperately wishing to sit, at the very least. But he much rather liked the idea of the Commander being no more than ten paces from him. For many reasons. "Cullen is a good friend, actually," he said. "I would trust that man with my life sooner than I would trust you with it. Strange, isn't it?"

"Given the circumstances..." Halward rubbed his temples. "I...we should've spoken sooner, Dorian. I should never have...And I don't know where to start, but...I would like to. I would like to have that trust again."

Dorian chewed his lip.

"I'm not going back to Tevinter, father. If that's what you're hoping for, squash that idea. There is more I can accomplish here in the south than ever going home and wearing out my lungs on the Senate floor. There is a Venatori cult trying to tear Thedas apart, in league with a darkspawn with aspirations of godhood. If I tarry off back to my homeland, and do nothing to stop this, we will allow the world to continue to fear us."

Halward nodded in understanding. "I was there when Alexius' son spoke of the Inquisition," he said, and Dorian's chest tightened a little at Felix's mention.

"Felix was good man," Dorian told him. "And Felix was right. He turned against his own father to stop the man from doing a very terrible thing. How can I do any less to make things right?"

"I understand. And I've heard the stories of what this Venatori cult have been up to. I've been in debate with my fellow Magisters in regards to it. There is one, in particular, who had claimed it is no more than a falsehood. Erimond. I have my concerns about him. He has been known to be fickle in the past, and I am no fool. Many have left the capital, and now he has been missing from the Senate debates, and did not return to Vyrantium either."

"Missing, you say?" Dorian repeated, and Halward nodded. Dorian sighed.

"Well, that should tell you something," he remarked.

"So you will not return? Not even to convince the Senate of this besiege of the Venatori?"

"I'd rather stop them, here, now, while I still can," Dorian said. In truth, there was nothing he could do to stop them personally, with Ellana's waning trust in him. But it was enough that the Inquisition's advisers trusted him. Cullen specifically. And every little accomplishment he made at Skyhold was an effort for a bigger picture. "So how disappointing is it? For you to go back to Qarinus empty-handed?"

Halward sighed and shook his head. "It is not a disappointment, Dorian," he said. "I worry for your safety, but I also have a care for your happiness. If this is what you truly desire, how can I convince you otherwise? You are my only son. You are all I have. I had once thought that meant something different, but now...Now I know what that means to me. It means that I would lose the one thing I love most in this world. You."

Dorian huffed. "If mother could hear you now."

Halward rubbed his chin, bemused, in thought of it, then sighed. "I shall return, and trouble you no more, if that is what you wish. But please, Dorian, I beg of you, be careful. This...This is not Minrathous, Dorian. And these people-"

"These people are afraid of us, and every step I take is to help reverse that. But it doesn't help when we're just as bad as they think we are, father. If you want things to change, then allow them to change how they will. Don't try to control that change, bend and twist it to your will. Accept that I will not run home and do whatever you wish of me. Be happy for my own success. And accept that I will never be the son you had hoped for."

"I am trying," Halward told him. "I promise you, I am."

"That was all I ever expected of you," Dorian admitted, and Halward slowly nodded.

"You and I have always been alike," he said. "We both have too much pride, don't we? And we let our pride get in the way of us. I'm willing to let go of mine, Dorian. Will you ever?"

Dorian sighed. He could make no promises of that.

"I was blind, Dorian," Halward told him. "I thought you would never be happy."

"And somehow I would, being a mindless puppet?"

"I was wrong," his father admitted.

"On that, we can most certainly agree."

Halward sighed. There was nothing more he could say. So he stepped around Dorian and headed for the door.

Outside the tavern, Cullen had only been listening for shouts, should Dorian need him to come running, and had been twisting the pommel of his blade with his palm in angst. A lot of things about Dorian made sense now, after witnessing the argument with Halward. He only chose to venture closer to the door and eavesdrop for a moment right about the time Dorian said, "Accept that I will never be the son you had hoped for."

Then he pulled away. He'd never understood it, but he'd always pitied the children of noble families, raised from birth to fulfill the expectations of their parents. Unlike Cullen, noble children disappointed their parents for a whole different reason, with much different consequences. Not marrying meant not sealing an alliance with the arranged family, not producing heirs to continue the family line, and so on and so forth.

Sometimes it meant not securing an inheritance, nor gaining a title. But to be disowned was always a terrible thing. To be a stranger to one's own family was painful. Cullen could relate to that, but for much different reasons. And at the moment, Dorian's reasons were much more important. To no surprise to Cullen, who was used to being surprised by Dorian on a daily basis, it was not only that Dorian was the family pariah just for spite.

He was no rebellious teenager that defied his family's will for the fun of it, not to Cullen.

He was a man who spent most of his life oppressed by his father, and was fighting for freedom. Fighting to break the chains. Another thing Cullen could relate to. The need to break those invisible chains. He mused upon these things while inside Dorian and Halward talked things over, and had been staring at the water front, the view of Lake Calenhad from the Gull And Lantern's front deck, when he heard the door behind him open.

He turned to see Halward stepping through the entrance first, a somewhat grave expression on his face, perhaps only sad to part with his son after so long being apart already, or disappointment that he would return to the Tevinter Imperium empty-handed. Cullen couldn't be sure, but only seconds later he saw Dorian come through the door with an equally indiscernible expression.

He met Cullen's gaze for a moment, before turning to Halward.

There was no fatherly embrace, nor was there a handshake, but there was a look of understanding that passed between them, and silent nods of their heads. A guardsman approached, offering to walk with Halward back to the docks, where he would catch a ferry across the lake. And in hindsight, it now seemed evident why Redcliffe Village was a ghost town. Once word reached the town that yet another Magister was about?

Well of course they'd lock themselves inside their houses and hide away with pitchforks until the "Evil Tevinter Magister" finally left. Dorian watched with a somewhat hardened exterior as Halward Pavus walked away, then sighed and turned to Cullen. "Well, that's over with," he said, though not bothering to put on any false cheer. He just sounded tired now, as if just then the evening's ride caught up with him, and exhausted him.

He jerked his head toward the tavern door, and both made their way back inside. Dorian eased himself into a chair by the fire, leaned against the armrest and propped his head. "Thank you," he said to Cullen as he approached, and in turn, the Commander squeezed his shoulder a little before moving to stand before the fire, folding his arms, staring into the flames. "You...handled all that surprisingly well," Dorian told him.

Cullen clenched his jaw. "Four years ago, I would've killed him," he admitted, emotionless. "I wouldn't have blinked...I doubt I left a very good impression on the man either."

"On the contrary, I think...I think he likes you, actually," Dorian informed, causing Cullen's head to swivel. "Apparently your concern for my safety, and your care for my wishes, warranted my father believing you and I might be involved."

Cullen chewed his lip a little and looked away. "Is that so?"

"Quite so," Dorian relayed. "But he admires your care for me. Wants me to believe he was only worried for my safety." Dorian sighed. "He says he and I are alike. Too much pride. Once, I would've been overjoyed to hear him say that. But now, I'm not certain...I don't know if I can forgive him."

"You, prideful? Never," was Cullen's repartee, causing Dorian to snort a little. "…Forgiveness is _earned_ , Dorian, and not claimed easily. With all things, patience. If he truly loves you, he'll have that patience for you." He turned to side-eye Dorian, catching his gloomy expression. "Will you be alright?" he asked, wishing there was something he could do for his friend, but knowing better than to assume.

"No," Dorian shook his head. "But thank you...And what of you? Maker only knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display."

"Only good things, Dorian," he smiled a little. "Only ever good things. Now if you were to suddenly ride in on that dracolisk, though, I might change my mind."

Dorian chuckled. "Then dracolisks are a definite no...but I think I now know how I can grate the Inquisitor's nerves if I ever feel the need."

It was Cullen's turn to snicker. "You're terrible," he said.

"Terrible?" Dorian smirked. "And here I thought you _liked_ me."

Oh, Cullen felt something for him, he was certain.

But...for a moment, he wasn't sure if it was merely _like_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I thought long and hard before deciding to elaborate on Dorian and Halward's discussion that we never see in the game. I did my research and I've been privy to both outcomes, Dorian either staying or leaving, and how it affects his story arc. I even read the excerpt written about Dorian going home to Tevinter, and wanted this to be something that could be loosely interpreted as canon, but also just sort of a thing of its own. I didnt think the matter could just so easily be resolved, but I do like the idea of Halward seeing the sort of man Dorian had become, and maybe seeing how strong and independent he is might have been what later encouraged him to bequeath him his position one day. Seeing that maybe Dorian is the right man for the job after all.
> 
> And maybe he really does love Dorian, but that love is blind.
> 
> Also, I really couldn't see Cullen making the decisions for him. The Inquisitor only has the option to encourage him to leave or talking him into staying, but despite the fact that he would kill Halward in a heartbeat, he would accept that it's not his place to decide things for Dorian. And the biggest arc, he _trusts_ him. Perhaps now more than ever. Like, "Yay, my future boyfriend is not nor will ever be a blood mage!"
> 
> Okay, leaving now.


	14. Loathe To Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of homosexuality in Thedas, random kisses in hallways, and more poetry.
> 
> The Dowager gives it two scarves, thrown in exasperation.

Once word spread that Magister Pavus left Redcliffe Village, people crawled out of the wood-works. Eventually the solace of the quiet tavern was replaced by the noise of patrons, the steady buzz of conversation, the strumming of a lute, singing and the clinking of cups and plates as people were served. And the owner of the establishment was doubly satisfied that night. Not only had Halward bought out the inn for privacy, but he didn't demand a refund.

So the whole of the inn had been paid for twice over that night, and people were in good spirits. With the exception of the two strangers–albeit heard of–one dressed in Inquisition armor, the other dressed in black, sporting a staff, that lounged in the corner. They'd been served a meal, choosing to preserve their rations still tucked in their saddle bags for the following day, though only one of them drank that evening.

Dorian now slouched with a glass of what passed for wine in Redcliffe, while Cullen stayed sober for a change. He was a bit on edge still, and would rather stay alert this far from Skyhold. Though Redcliffe was as safe as it could be nowadays, one could never be too careful. And he kept an eye on Dorian, who nursed his much needed drink, as of the moment, pondering all that transpired. He leaned back in his seat, but after a long gap of silence, Dorian finally spoke.

"I still don't get you, you know?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you're a pious southern Chantry goer, are you not?" Dorian pointed out. "Or...you _were_ , once, I suppose. How is it that you are perfectly fine with someone like me, who partakes in a more...'seedy' sort of lifestyle?"

"Seedy?" Cullen chuckled. "That's not quite the word I would use for you," he said. "Truth be told it happens here more often than you think. I know what the clerics might say but I don't ever remember reciting a verse of the Chant that spoke of men sleeping with other men." Dorian snorted at that. "They just don't marry. And most don't want their children neglecting marriage. That means they won't have children of their own.

Or, to say, they wouldn't have legitimate heirs. But it's not necessarily forbidden, I don't think. There's no laws against it. In the Order, though we required permission to marry, it wasn't forbidden to fraternize with one another, as long as it didn't affect our duties. It happened quite a lot, actually. There was only the concern of Templars interacting with their charges. Fraternizing with mages was absolutely forbidden."

"Oh, so there was never any secret crushing on any of the apprentices for you then?" Dorian asked. Cullen rubbed his chin.

"There...was a mage I was fond of in the Ferelden Circle, yes," he reluctantly admitted. "Her name was Amell."

"Hmm, the Commander's forbidden mage love interest," Dorian purred, but watched as Cullen's expression darkened just a little. To one of sadness, and contempt.

"We were expected to cut down any mage that didn't pass their Harrowing, deeming them able to resist possession," he said. "And we were expected to act without hesitance. To kill, if necessary, at any moment the need arose. While keeping our distance did little to foster understanding of one another, to be forced to kill the one you love when they become corrupted...would be more than anyone could bear."

Dorian fiddled with his glass. "I see."

"But..." Cullen shifted, attempting to lighten the subject a little. "Templars would often sneak away at night, or tarried off to the tavern or other places, to intermingle with the locals, or one another. And men weren't always interested in the female Templars, I might add."

"So, am I to understand this was how Cullen Rutherford ended up in a brothel?" Dorian asked, and Cullen chuckled.

"I won't lie, the Blooming Rose in Kirkwall did know me by name, yes."

"Oh but Varric never told me that," Dorian remarked. "He told me a lot about you one night over drinks and a hand of Wicked Grace, and he mentioned some interesting things, but he didn't mention a brothel." Dorian narrowed his eyes just then, eyeing Cullen a little derisively, and Cullen knew what he was driving at. The things Varric did say about Kirkwall, in his book, and in the Herald's Rest while intoxicated.

Cullen sighed. "Varric saw me at my worst," he said. "During a time when there was so much chaos. Fear and paranoia, innocent blood spilled, and no black and white. No true right or wrong on either side. What Meredith did in Kirkwall shouldn't pit blame on each and every Templar in the Order, any more than Samson's corruption should. But just because many mages were innocent then, doesn't mean that all of them are."

"Well, of course not. People are flawed. Such is life."

"But I have many regrets," Cullen then told him. "And a lot to make up for."

Dorian pondered that. "The Seeker had some things to say about that too," he informed.

"And what did Cassandra say?"

"That you're not the man you used to be. And so that is why you...you know, why you-"

"Stopped taking Lyrium," Cullen sighed. "That's what you were going to say, and yes. I'm not a Templar anymore. I don't think that's what the Maker has planned for me."

"You keep saying that, but…"

Cullen neglected to comment, merely glanced away.

There was more to it than that, Dorian could tell by the look on Cullen's face that there was so much more. But who was Dorian to judge? Whoever Cullen was four years ago in Kirkwall, he wasn't that man now. And whoever he had been in the Circle in Ferelden, well, that man was a stranger too, wasn't he? Which was why he struggled with reaching out to his siblings, Dorian imagined. They loved a man that didn't exist anymore.

And Dorian's own family loved a lie.

"So what about you?" Cullen dared to ask. "How was it in Tevinter for such a thing? Relationships with other men?"

"Oh, you're seriously asking that?" Dorian said, arching a brow. "Ah, yes, well, I suppose we've never really discussed that, have we?"

"I'm only curious, I don't want to pry. We don't have to discuss it."

"How sweet of you," Dorian derided sarcastically. But that was why they never discussed any of Dorian's previous relations, the mage noticed. Because Cullen never pried, other than the night he asked about the Iron Bull. Always the respectable sort. Dorian sighed. "Well, obviously you saw my father's opinion on the subject," he said. "But..." He shrugged. "Well, it's the same really, only we're not tied to a stake and burned for our blasphemy."

Cullen snorted a little at that.

"We keep it hidden, obviously. Such deviance holds no place among respectable members of the upper class. And it's never serious, you know. Certainly, we have our fun, but that's all it ever is. I...suppose I could have married Livia, and continued having affairs with other men, but...well, that's no way to live, is it?"

"That's not fair to either of you," Cullen remarked.

"No, it isn't. And for what? To have a child?" Dorian's lip twitched in disgust a little at the thought of siring a child, much less with that cunt faced whore, Livia. "My father planned to groom me my whole life to serve one specific purpose. _His_ purpose. To inherit his legacy, to preen me for a powerful position in Tevinter, and all the good that would do at the moment," he scoffed. "Makes me question my whole existence."

He scowled. Wine was kicking in, and he was starting to spout things he normally wouldn't. And it was terribly depressing to think of only existing to further his father's goals.

"I almost envy you, you know," he said, and Cullen quirked a brow. "You wanted to be a Templar and–poof!–you were a Templar. You wanted to stop being a Templar and–oh look!–you're Commander of the Inquisition now. Or you could have just turned around and went back home. Gone anywhere. Done anything, really. In my youth, I would've traded all the decadence of Tevinter for that freedom."

"But you have it now," Cullen reminded. "And you'll continue to have it. And if your father cannot accept that, what good is his legacy now?"

"True," Dorian agreed with a slight shrug of the shoulder. "Still, no matter how hard I try I can't escape that man. And with the way the world looks at me, we might as well be the same person."

"You are _not_ your father, Dorian. And you shouldn't envy me either," Cullen then told him, and that first sentence was a jolt to the core Dorian had not expected, but was so relieved to hear.

"Why not?"

"We may have been a happy little bunch of common people, but us Rutherfords? Flat broke," Cullen chuckled. "My father was a farmer in a ruddy little town called Honnleath. My family moved to yet another little town like that called South Reach, during the Blight. We all worked with our hands, you know." He held up his own, as if Dorian might see them through the gloves. "Shoveling and plowing the day away. You would've been miserable there."

"But your father loved you, didn't he?" Dorian asked, and Cullen's smile dimmed. Then a flash of sympathy spread across his face, just as Dorian's melancholy rose up once more. "I think he would be proud of you," he added ruefully, hoping to avoid making Cullen feel guilty for having the lovely upsides to his humble childhood that Dorian was denied of his. It was hardly their faults. Cullen chewed his lip.

"How can you be sure?"

"Well, I can't, really, I don't know the man, but I know that I am." He left Cullen speechless for a moment, ducking his head contritely. Dorian sighed. "And I think it's time we called it a night," he then lamented. "Would you be a dear and rent some rooms? And I'll fetch the saddle bags."

"Alright then," Cullen nodded.

They rose to stand, and Cullen headed off to speak to the clerk, while Dorian ventured outside to where their horses were tied and shifting where they stood, relishing in the fresh night air. Redcliffe Village was a little throwaway port, usually a stop on the way to a city proper, and hardly possessed a feasible stable. But the mounts weren't complaining, only bristled a little, flicked their tails and continued picking at the grass.

Making sure everything was accounted for still, and no thieves had pillaged their belongings, Dorian headed back inside, bags thrown over his shoulder. Cullen was waiting by the stairs, and accepted his bag when Dorian handed it to him. Up the stairs they climbed, dragging their feet, both tired, and ready to get back to Skyhold in the morning. Armor audibly clinked as they crossed the hall, then Cullen handed Dorian a key.

Their rooms were directly adjacent to each other. They'd be no more than a few paces from one another that night. It was somewhat comforting. Dorian let out a sigh, and was just about to make some funny parting quip, when out of nowhere, Cullen dropped his bag on the floor and pulled Dorian into a tight embrace. He was frozen in confusion at first, but slowly his own saddle bag slipped out of his clutches and he hugged him back.

He felt Cullen sigh and say, "It's going to be alright, you know."

Maker, how that tugged at Dorian's heart!

He was a little misty eyed when he heard that, and rapidly blinked away those pesky tears threatening to form before they betrayed him, and tilted his head a little into the Commander's ear and said, "Of...of c-course it will, Commander. With all Thedas' problems, we only have the end of the world to contend with, after all. A little thing like this? Oh it's...i-it's nothing, really. Nothing at all."

It was hard to convey any emotion through the embrace with their armor in the way, but Cullen could still feel Dorian's pulse racing at his neck.

Cullen had many reasons for the contact just then, but the biggest was to just let Dorian know he cared. Such a simple gesture, but it said many things that words couldn't really say. For Cullen's tongue had been just as tangled as his heart, for quite some time, but in that complex web of emotions that night, there was desire. There was concern. There was care, and there was something else. He pulled away slightly to meet Dorian's gaze.

If nothing had ever happened between them, he might call it brotherly affection he felt. But it was something else, something he only felt with Dorian, though he could scarcely describe it just yet. But it was there. He couldn't deny its existence. And thus the cause of Cullen leaning in and kissing him, gently, then whispering, " _No object, but of desire, Maker though I loathe to part; but in a kiss is holy fire, to cleanse thy soul and aching heart_."

"He hugs and kisses me, then spouts poetry?" Dorian huffed. And not just any poetry, but a line from the very book they fought for possession of.

Cullen chuckled. "And he does it _sober_ ," he said, mocking Dorian's disbelieving tone. "Was it awful, then?"

"Just dreadful," Dorian lied.

"Then I shall have to try a different approach the next time."

"The next time?"

Dorian lifted a brow, outwardly appearing as if no more than amused, but in his chest his heart raced madly. Cullen bit his lip in angst, "Dorian, I care for you," he pressed softly, feeling more assured in that statement than any moment ever spent with Ellana Lavellan. And how his mind reeled as he came to terms with the gravity of it. "You need to know that of me. I can't say for certain what that means, but Maker...I _do_. Believe that I do."

Dorian sighed, touching his forehead to Cullen's. Well, it felt good to know someone did. "What am I to do with you, Commander," he said.

"You don't want me answering that," was Cullen's remark and Dorian rolled his eyes. So that was what he sounded like to Cullen, was it?

"Go to bed, Cullen," he groaned, pulling away. The Commander sighed, not in disappointment per say, but just sighed. Then he pointed to his door.

"If you need me, I'm only on the other side of that door," he said, and Dorian lamely nodded.

"Goodnight, Commander," Dorian told him, waving him onward.

Cullen turned toward the door, but he only made it halfway through the turn before changing his mind and whipping back around. Before Dorian could so much as protest–not that he really wanted to, mind you–Cullen cupped his face and pressed another kiss to his lips, though far more heated than previously, and much like he did on the battlements, he backed him up against the wall.

If Cullen knew nothing else, he knew this felt wonderful, and had to have more. There was just something about Dorian that made Cullen feel safe, solid, and secure, as well as needed. Wanted, and most certainly desired, if Dorian's remarks about his good looks were any indication. And when Dorian kissed him back, he felt the ache, the invisible nudge, pushing and pulling at him, driving him forward, just as before.

But he couldn't take it any further than that. He'd only ever meant to reinforce the idea that he did care, and he would not use Dorian, nor did he mean to toy with his affections, much less emotions. So he pulled away again, breathless, heart pounding, and bemoaned the loss. "Maker though I loathe to part," he said with a smirk, making Dorian chuckle, shaking his head at him. "Goodnight, Dorian," he said.

"Won't be that if you keep torturing me like this," Dorian huffed, exasperated.

Cullen sighed. "Well, you have had a few drinks. I wont take advantage of that. Just get some sleep, Dorian," he said. "And if you need me-"

"You'll be just in there, yes," Dorian nodded, pointing at the door.

"Yes," Cullen affirmed, then with a final polite bow in parting, he retrieved his bag, and left the empty hall, venturing into his temporary quarters.

Dorian slumped his head against the wall for a moment still, before doing the same.

He closed and locked the door behind him, set aside his saddle bag and his staff, and flopped down on the rustic bed without bothering to undress. Absently rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb, while the other hand toyed with the trinket wrapped around his finger. Flustered, he sighed and lay back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other fiddling with the ring still, in thought.

 _'I care for you,'_ Cullen had said. It was soft, but not hesitant; he didn't stutter, nor had he been shy. No, he'd said those words with every bit the confidence he possessed when barking orders at his recruits. It was said in earnest, and for a moment Dorian thought back on something Ellana told him before she left. _'He's stupidly shy, all the time, and it's adorable, but it's getting old, I'm tired of just flirting with him.'_

"Yes, you vapid little creature, you'd like Cullen to be just as empty and unfulfilled as you," he muttered under his breath. "You'd be shocked to know how heartfelt he truly is." He chuckled. "And you thought he wasn't romantic." Truth be told, Cullen was a step beyond any other man he'd encountered. No, he had no care for fine wine and fancy parties, nor did he care for many material vices, but everything he said and did, it was impassioned.

He was so noble at heart sometimes Dorian thought he might throw up. And his chivalry that evening, sweeping Dorian into his arms like that, swooning him with an incredible kiss, but not taking advantage of the situation and carting him off to bed? Maker's breath, it was unbelievable, is what it was! And his heart pounded in his chest from it still. He'd told Cullen he didn't want to be involved, yet in spite of it...

It seemed like Cullen was trying to prove this was more than just curiosity on his part, while also still struggling with his feelings on the matter. And Dorian wasn't sure how he felt about that. Did he dare entertain the thought of being involved with Cullen? Even for a second? Would it just be a fling, and then they go back to being friends afterwards? Would it be a relationship? Could it be, if he wished?

Did Dorian even want that? He'd never had that before. He'd never had someone that was just... _them_. Only them, like being married, but not. And it seemed odd to think about. Being in a committed relationship seemed much the norm for some people, and Dorian had never been 'normal', nor did he want to be 'normal'. He just wanted to be _him_. But what would that mean with Cullen in the picture?

What did Cullen even want?

Could Cullen ever love him?

Dorian sighed a little at the thought. "I suppose I wouldn't even know what love looked like if it slapped me in the face," he mumbled aloud.

But did Cullen? Did Cullen know what that felt like? To be in love?

And while Dorian surmised in his room the subject of love and all its complexities, so did Cullen do some soul searching of his own next door. Caught somewhere between fretting over what must be happening at Skyhold without him, neglecting his duties to the Inquisition, his regrets of the past, his wish to be supportive of a very dear friend that was just on the other side of that wall, and...something else.

Part of him fought the urge to just take the leap. Go to Dorian's room, and pursue this desire he harbored, try it out, see if it could work, see if this was what he really wanted, and just go from there. But another part of him warred against it. He would have so little time to explore his feelings with Dorian when they returned to Skyhold. His duties to the Inquisition would take any precedence, but as he'd told the man, _'In all things, patience.'_

So he brooded in his quarters, pacing the room continuously, exhausted from the day's events, but restless still. More conflicted now than ever, but bound and determined to prove to Dorian he would be sincere. Dorian deserved that from him. He would give him no less than what he deserved. What he'd earned, after years of overcoming his own troubled past, Cullen would give no less than that.

But where would he start? Did it sound too much like one of Varric's novels if he just waltzed up to Dorian with a bouquet of roses? Was that too cliché? Not that he had any idea what Swords & Shields was actually about, much less did he know if roses were involved, but that was usually the thing _women_ went for. What about Dorian? Though ironic, and uncanny, that both men read the same poetry, but obviously that was no indication.

Cullen sighed and smeared a hand across his face. To hear his own thoughts, it sounded as if he planned to _romance_ Dorian...Did he? Were his feelings indeed the romantic sort?

They were certainly amorous.

Did Dorian even want to be swept off his feet? Would he even expect any commitment at all? And how could Cullen even begin to address all this without any sort of plan? The last time he went off half cocked with only a mere idea of what to do, it ended in disaster, didn't it? He would not repeat that again. He vowed to make every moment count. And he didn't tolerate failure in any other form, so he certainly wouldn't tolerate it now.

He went to bed frustrated, and though he didn't know in what sort of state Dorian fell asleep, he knew that at least he didn't fall asleep easily.

But the following morning, it appeared as if neither man had rested well, and on the journey back to Skyhold they were silent. No mental chess, no teasing, no bickering. Just silence. Cullen wasn't quite sure where he stood with Dorian that day. Not when he was surprisingly ill tempered. He chalked it up as Dorian still working through everything that happened with his father, and didn't press for conversation, allowing him his privacy.

They arrived at Dennet's stables, dismounted and unsaddled the horses as if nothing were amiss, but something most certainly was, it seemed. Almost immediately Cullen was accosted with runners and reports, before he'd barely gotten one foot out of the stirrups. He shot Dorian an apologetic glance as he was ushered away by people needing his attention, and in turn, Dorian searched out his own amusement.

He went directly to Leliana's perch on the top floor of the tower, and gave her the name Livius Erimond, as a possible agent of the Venatori, then set to work unpacking.

The Altus of course did see Cullen's pained expression upon parting, and smirked a little when no one was around to see it. It was enough to know that Cullen would rather be in his company than theirs. He wouldn't dare distract such an important man so crucial to the Inquisition's success, but Maker's breath if he didn't want to so badly. He'd thought of nothing else the night before, and during their ride to Skyhold.

 _Maker, though I loathe to part,_ he thought ruefully.

And once free of runners and scouts and other agents accosting him, once having spoken to Leliana and Josephine, then dismissing Rylen from his office and settling down at his desk, Cullen noticed the book laying on it still, under some reports. Sitting there splayed open to the page Cullen had bookmarked, with a note attached to it. Thankfully not glued, nor otherwise permanently attached in a way that it would damage it.

A paperweight pinned it in place, and the note read:

_Ha! Look who has a hankering for sweetsy romantic shite, eh? Didn't expect that! No wonder Inky doesn't like you now. She wouldn't know sweetheart lovey dovey stuff if you threw Sword & Shields at her an hit her in the face! Stupid, right? You're cute, Cully. No, not in that way. But sweet. Better give Dory back his book now, before he throws a fit! Or read it to him maybe. Bet he'd like that._

_-S_

There were little doodles all over the note too, heart shapes and other things, and what could only be described as a very crude rendition of Cullen and Dorian kissing...maybe? He really wasn't sure if that's what it was, but that's what it looked like anyway. But whereas something left by Sera always made him more annoyed than anything else, at the moment, it just made him throw his head back and laugh.

He tossed the note aside and picked up the book, then flipped it to a previous page he'd read. A particular poem that caught his eye, one that left quite an impression on him, for it fit so perfectly when he recited it. It reminded him of a certain magically gifted individual that had garnered so much of his attention, dear to him ever since he'd saved him in the snow all those months ago. He loved reading it. He did so then, smiling a little.

" _A chance we meet, a riddled stare, a moment that I loathe to miss,_  
_How magnificent, that fickle care, but steals my breath that kiss._  
_But in that kiss, a holy flame, that burns away the hour,_  
_A light, a leap, a whispered name, that in such I devour._  
_And hark, there I see, the minstrel of my ire none,_  
_To dance, and leap, and sing affections I have won,_  
_No object, but of desire, Maker though I loathe to part,_  
_But in a kiss is holy fire, to cleanse thy soul and aching heart_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem by Yours Truly.
> 
> So as I have aforementioned, I LOVE Queen, and I won't lie, I have been nonstop jamming out to nothing else, so I can stay motivated to write this fic, and I thought I'd take the time to share with you some of my favorites. They are: Somebody To Love (obviously) Bohemian Rhapsody, Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Killer Queen, Don't Stop Me Now, I Want To Break Free, Another One Bites The Dust, and The Show Must Go On, just to name a few. And they're all on my playlist. Any favorites? Or any songs you like that make you think of this fic? If so, share with me! I'd love to take a listen. :D


	15. A Bold Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen takes a gamble, and asks Dorian to dinner.

"So what do you think of Solas?" Dorian asked, the afternoon following their return to Skyhold, during chess, taking yet another piece of Cullen's off the board and setting it aside. Cullen furrowed his brow at the exceptional move he made, and absently rubbed his chin in thought. "I've seen his handiwork, he's familiar with magical and non-magical healing. He's not the best I've seen, but he's more capable than me."

Cullen's eyes widened. "Maker's breath!" he exclaimed, leaning back in his seat, clapping a hand over his mouth dramatically, feigning shock. "Did I just hear Dorian Pavus admit someone else was better at something than him?" he laughed.

"Oh don't give me that," Dorian groaned, rolling his eyes. "I didn't say better, I said more capable. There's a difference."

Cullen chuckled. "If you say so," he grinned, throwing up his hands in mock defeat. "Who am I to argue the best?"

"And don't forget it," Dorian quipped with a smug grin. "But truly, I think Solas would be the wisest choice."

"You think he's trust worthy?"

"I think he's indifferent," Dorian enlightened, frowning when Cullen counteracted his move on the board by checking him. He preened his mustache. Clever of him. "Oh and? Completely immune to Ellana's charms, by the way." Honestly, it was his best, most useful asset. His disinterest in the Inquisitor. Solas had select few hobbies–painting, studying the Fade and its denizens–but Ellana was not one of those hobbies, thankfully.

"Is that so?" Cullen remarked as he took a bite of the half eaten pastry set beside the board, then brushed crumbs from his collar. Dorian would have to forgive him for his messy eating habits, as he was overly adoring when he did that. He looked like a child just then, so innocent and clueless, when he stuffed his face with sweets. So instead of scolding him for such behavior, he focused on the game he was bent on winning.

And this affliction of Cullen's he was trying to cure.

"Quite so," Dorian told him while he made his move, quickly getting himself out of check, to the Commander's dismay. "I've overheard the two of them talking on the first floor, from time to time. He finds her a bore. Any attempts to introduce her to new ideas, she quickly dismisses. And Maker forbid he say anything that contradicts Dalish belief. She won't hear of it. Tragic, really. I myself find his theories rather fascinating."

Though really he just admired the fact that Solas hated Ellana as much as he did, if not more.

"You have an interest in ancient elven history?" Cullen asked.

"Mmm, more of an interest in the Fade, really, only the mentions of Elvhenan simply come with the territory. But he's at least more objective when faced with something controversial than, say, Vivienne. It's only a shame that he doesn't dress better. Such an eyesore." Cullen snorted a little at Dorian's assessment of Solas' appearance. "But some of his ideas hold merit. And so few here in the south are so open to in-depth discussion of the Fade."

"And what does he think of your idea? To use magic to burn Lyrium from a non-mage?"

"I haven't asked him yet," Dorian admitted. "But he might find it interesting, yes. Certainly from an academic standpoint. But nevertheless, I doubt he would have any interest in getting Ellana involved. He's already learned his lesson about involving her in anything to do with his magical studies." Dorian took a sip from his cup, then scowled at how easily Cullen counteracted his move. Putting him right back in check. "Kaffas," he cursed.

Cullen chuckled deviously. "That was easier than it used to be," he said. "Is the Altus losing his touch perhaps?"

"The Altus was simply distracted," Dorian huffed. "I shall resign to only playing chess with ugly and tactless former Templars, from now on."

Cullen grinned.

Well, this was new, Dorian surmised. Not only did Cullen not wince nor flinch quite so much whenever Dorian brought about the subject of magic, but he wasn't quite as bashful as he used to be whenever Dorian complimented him. How interesting a development. He couldn't help but chuckle at how positively smug the Commander looked. "So, will the elven apostate suffice, then?" he asked, as he studied the possible moves on the board.

Cullen nodded. "He's proven his value insofar to the Inquisition, and Cassandra trusts him. That's good enough for me. So if he's willing to be impartial, and he doesn't object..." Cullen shrugged indeterminately. But Dorian took that as a yes.

Then it was settled. Solas would be the mage designated to heal Cullen should it be necessary during the process of removing Lyrium. Provided Cullen would go through with it. He'd yet to make up his mind, but having good, talented, and trustworthy people assisting him, there to support him, helped the decision making. Dorian wasn't going to push the issue, only ask questions, and glean a little insight.

In the end, even if Cullen refused, still, the effort could end up helping another Templar that wished to free themselves of Lyrium's hold on them. Someone like Rylen perhaps, or Lysette, when they retired of their positions and no longer held any obligations to the Inquisition. Before it was too late, and they succumbed to Lyrium madness, or something equally damning, like struggling to keep a steady supply of it, and suffering withdrawal.

"Should you like to have Cassandra present as well?" Dorian then asked.

Cullen gave that some thought before finally nodding.

"Yes, she's...she's been supportive of my decision, and I think it might make it easier. And as a Seeker, she's been trained to be objective regarding matters of both mages and Templars. She's skilled in tactics against both. She might be useful to you."

"Ah, yes. Indeed, that might come in handy."

And she might also be useful as a consultant, Dorian just realized. If she were willing to share some secrets of her Order, perhaps explain in depth precisely how the Seekers' abilities affected Templars, he might find a correlation between that and his research that could further it. He'd have to remember to speak to her about that. If he could ever pull her away from Varric. Impossible of a task, nowadays.

As of late, when she wasn't training, she was accosting him for the next chapter of his book.

She was so relentless that the storyteller almost wished she'd go back to despising him.

Dorian smirked in thought of it now.

"What are you smiling about?" Cullen asked, confused.

Dorian shrugged. "Oh, just wondering how you've survived so long being as clueless as you are, Commander," he said, and at that, Cullen huffed and rolled his eyes. Ah, yes, there it was, a reaction he was familiar with. He fiddled with his ring. Then bit his lip a little. "Though I was wondering if you'd made up your mind," he relented. "Have you decided then? You'd like to give it a try?"

Cullen winced. "I don't know," he said. "You said you still don't know for certain if it would be a success."

"True. I wouldn't give you a definite answer until I had one. I'd rather there be no hope than give you false hope."

Cullen sucked in a breath, smoothed his hair away from his face, and deflated in a sigh.

"I've been functioning well enough with the potions you made. Perhaps I won't even need to consider it."

"Perhaps," Dorian conceded, "We can do no more than wait and see."

And they'd discussed in detail his usage of the potions Dorian had concocted. The Altus gave him his best educated guess as to how much longer he might have before the potions would lose their effect, versus how long it would take before he was completely free of Lyrium naturally. In all likelihood, he would never be completely free of it, and the pain and itch his blood would always be there, just lessen in efficacy.

They would be relying entirely on the hope that Cullen could resist temptation, keep from giving in and resume taking Lyrium.

That had been his hope, until Dorian offered another solution.

Cullen had taken that into consideration while debating his options.

Dorian continued on to speak of other matters, but Cullen slowly started to lose focus of it.

He knew he should be paying attention, and normally he would be, but as Dorian prattled, his eyes slowly gravitated away from his face, and toward his torso. It was one thing to acknowledge that someone was attractive, and another entirely to be attracted _to_ someone. Cullen couldn't really say yet if he was indeed attracted to Dorian–though curious of, yes–but he had never been above admitting Dorian was an attractive man.

He'd always wondered just how it was that Dorian maintained a perfect physique though his day to day activities had so little to do with physical labor. Probably some sort of exercise routine Cullen had never been privy to witnessing, as after all, it wasn't like he saw Dorian all hours of the day. Just some. But at the moment, more of his focus was on Dorian's physique in terms of just what it might actually feel like pressed against him.

It wasn't quite so terrifying of a thought, knowing they were the same gender, and so knowing there was nothing new to see. Not like his first experience with a woman that had him terrified something might bite him. Yes, he'd been fairly gullible in his youth, and actually believed one of his fellow Templars in training when they said something involving the word 'snatch', and he took it literally.

He could laugh at himself now, thinking about it. But yes, he knew what was hiding under Dorian's clothes, he just...well, he'd never even tried to picture sex with a man before. The moment the thought entered his head, he'd pushed it out. Any time those rumors worked their way through the barracks he'd ignore them, overlook them, pretend it wasn't happening, to be polite, though mostly because he wasn't interested in it.

Or...he never thought he would be.

But perhaps that's why he never knew he _could_ be, for he had never allowed himself to consider it. He'd never been open to the prospect. And never found a man he thought particularly attractive until now. Instead he'd repressed such thoughts. Never explored the possibility.

Never allowed himself to actually admire Dorian.

He knew one thing for certain, he wasn't inexorably hard just by staring at him. But then again, neither was he just from staring at any pretty woman he saw in attractive, formfitting clothing. Like Ellana, who walked about all the time in skintight underclothing when she wasn't wearing her armor. He'd long ago deduced that Lyrium was largely the source of his issues with sex, and later the withdrawal, but maybe that wasn't the entirety of it.

Maybe Dorian was simply the first person Cullen had met that he was genuinely interested in. Maybe that was why Dorian had such an effect on him. He was definitely the only person Cullen had ever felt comfortable with. He certainly wasn't comfortable with the women in the Blooming Rose in Kirkwall, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and it wasn't hard to close his eyes and picture someone else.

And he could become aroused if there were at least oral stimulation. But despite his issues with that, Dorian could excite him merely by kissing him. He wondered what else the mage would be capable of. And he wondered...

Might he actually enjoy it? And not only that, but actually enjoy sex much more thoroughly than he ever had previously?

Or would he only disappoint the mage?

 _But he's got a nice arse though_ , he thought. _It's absolute perfection, really, and I'm rather jealous, but...also...I don't know...if I didn't have any Lyrium in my veins, would I feel any different?_ But he loved this though. He loved talking to Dorian. Sharing his thoughts, all their goading and teasing…admittedly the flirting too. He really didn't deserve to have someone pay so much attention to him, but he felt rather privileged to have it.

And felt privileged to have ever met the mage.

Then he blinked.

"Did you even hear me, Commander?" he heard, and looked up.

"What?"

"I said...Kaffas! You weren't even listening to me, were you?" Dorian asked, scowling.

"Oh, right, go on, you were saying?" Cullen gestured for him to proceed, but Dorian only sat there, and narrowed his eyes at the man in suspicion, folding his arms across his chest. _Sweet Maker, he'd already asked me a question, hadn't he?_ Cullen then thought. He inhaled a little as Dorian slowly leaned forward, and tilted his head. He held that breath, as Dorian eyed him incredulously.

"Something has the Commander awfully distracted for him to blatantly ignore all my attempts to fascinate him with riveting conversation," he surmised.

They shared a look, Dorian's condemning stare, and Cullen's guilt ridden own.

"Have dinner with me," he exhaled, and Dorian's eyelashes fluttered, that rapid blinking he did whenever he was shocked or confused by something happening.

"Come again?"

"Will you have dinner with me?" Cullen asked slowly, miserably failing at avoiding ending that on a nervously high pitch. He did, and Dorian continued to gape.

"Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner."

"With you?"

"No, Dorian, with the harts in the stable. Yes, me!"

"Don't sass me, Commander." Cullen fought hard not to do that very thing upon hearing such a remark, and instead waited patiently for an answer. Dorian sat up straight, balking at the request. "You're truly asking me to have dinner with you? Have we been courting one another, that I was unaware of? Because, you know, typically when someone makes such a request, they have certain _expectations_ attached."

"Yes, I _expect_ to eat, drink, talk, you know, have _dinner_ with you, Dorian. Unless the rules have suddenly changed, that's typically how one does such a thing, yes? You can take that invitation however you'd like, but that's what I'm asking. Dinner, tonight, with me. Here, or, wherever you'd prefer. Lunch will be over soon, but I _am_ enjoying your company, and I thought perhaps...I could have it tonight."

He'd never wanted something so much in his life as he did that. More than he'd ever wanted Lyrium, more than he wanted to serve the Inquisition even, Maker forgive him, but it was true. At that moment in time, in whatever way he could have, he wanted to be with Dorian. _I don't know what will become of this, but I'm tired of circling around it._ True, it was a bold move on his part, but he took the gamble nonetheless.

"My company, he says," Dorian sighed. He glanced away from Cullen and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Just dinner, Cullen had said, and Dorian didn't know what to think of it, really. He'd always wanted something like that. To just have dinner with someone, perhaps in a private, romantic setting, but maybe just to talk, to share his life with someone, without anything expected of him. He wanted what Cullen was offering. The care, the patience, the poetry, the dinner, all those things, and despite reservations, Cullen was delivering.

Cullen wasn't expecting anything, but in fact, living up to Dorian's expectations. Or, at least, living up to this new level of expectancy, because he'd never dared to hope for things like this. If there had ever been romance before hand, it was most certainly not without a price. But he was still disbelieving of it. He jerked his head up suddenly. "You mean to tell me, Commander, that you only _just_ wish to have dinner with me tonight?"

"If that's all you want of me, you shall have it," he said. "Do I ever want more than to just play chess with you? Just have conversation with you? Just have meals with you in the Great Hall?...Well, I won't lie, I think I'd like more, but I won't demand it, Dorian. I...just want to have dinner with you tonight, I won't ask for more." Dorian's heart jumped right to his throat. "So I'll ask again. Will you have dinner with me, tonight?"

Dorian leaned back in his seat, in utter disbelief–and possibly denial.

No, he _refused_ to believe it was only dinner.

"What do you want from me, Cullen?!" he demanded, heatedly, and the Commander sighed, shifting around in his chair in agitation. Dorian saw his jaw tick, but knew that Cullen was trying desperately not to show his irritation and remain calm.

But rather than snap at the mage, he kept his eyes trained on Dorian's, and said, earnestly, "I just want to be with you."

Dorian went stalk still.

A bell sounded in the distance, marking the hour.

A moment later a messenger appeared in the garden and was walking toward their little corner from the door leading to the Great Hall. Others were filing in as well, intruding upon their momentary seclusion, bringing it to a close. Lunch was over, and it was time for both of them to resume their duties. Dorian relished in the interruption for a change, where normally he would resent it, but he needed a moment longer to think.

He quietly rose from his seat and pushed in the chair.

"Sir, Lady Josephine asked to speak to you in her office," the runner informed Cullen when he approached, and Cullen nodded, heart pounding when he saw Dorian get up from the table.

"We'll speak later," Dorian promised, and curtly made his exit. In turn, Cullen got up from his chair, aiming to head straight to Josephine's office.

As the runner was making his leave, Cullen stared down at the chess board for a moment still, seeing the move he would've made. One more move, and that would've been game. Checkmate. But beside his own piece was Dorian's. Had he noticed, Dorian could also have won the match. But he would never know who would've won that game now. And Cullen was going to be late if he tarried any longer. So he forced his feet moving.

Dorian never gave an answer, but Cullen dreaded what it might be.

Had it been the wrong move to make?

Later that afternoon, after training had been concluded, Dorian met with Cassandra in the armory, and explained his research in more detail.

The Seeker found it interesting, to say the very least about it. Interesting enough that she neglected to comment until he was finished speaking. Throughout his explanation, she merely listened.

The idea was to burn away the Lyrium akin to a mage draining their mana during spell casting. It would also significantly weaken a Templar corrupted by Red Lyrium as well, he was certain, even if it didn't remove it. Which Dagna found most useful. But in order to do that, first the subject would have to be charged with magic, before being effectively drained of it, and in the process, drained of Lyrium. But there was a problem with that.

Due to Lyrium's adaptive properties, even if they could somehow break past its resistance to charge it, likely the Lyrium would absorb the energy and convert it rather than simply contain it. So even if Dorian were to somehow channel his mana into Cullen, in a way similar to channeling it into Ellana's mark to overcharge it, the Lyrium in his body might simply absorb it, and therefore grow stronger.

Provided they could even counteract the resistance. The Lyrium in Cullen's blood adapted to repel any sort of spells, and anything they did now might only kill him, so until they could find a means of reversing the Lyrium's inherited design, they'd reached an impasse. Even Dagna had no solution. Certainly not anything that didn't include something sharp, combustible, or acidic, of which Dorian rebuffed all three with a resounding 'no'.

He was at his wit's end, and at this point, maybe the only solution was blood magic, or something equally repulsive.

Maybe there would just be no solving this.

"For good reason, the Seekers of Truth have always carefully guarded their rituals," Cassandra told him. "There are even some things I myself do not know; I was not of a high enough rank to be privy to the information. Only the Lord Seekers were. But I can safely say that I wouldn't be able to alter the effects of a Templar's Lyrium, only render a Templar incapable of drawing upon it. But as far as I know, there are no Seekers that could change the way it functions."

"Disappointing," Dorian remarked, and Cassandra nodded in understanding. "But I thank you for your input," he added.

"I'm only sorry there isn't more I could do, aside from moral support," she told him. "Mages have made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order mind and soul, with someone always holding their Lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself, and anyone who would follow suit, that it's possible. I cannot tell you how glad I am that he has your support as well."

Dorian smiled a little. Then he sighed. He'd hit another dead end, it seemed. But there was always a chance that Solas had seen something of value in the Fade, as he was quite fond of sudden and unexpected epiphany. Like when he discovered Skyhold's existence, for example. Perhaps it was due time he speak to the apostate. "I'll let you know if anything changes, Seeker," he told Cassandra, then bid her farewell.

While Dorian was in the armory, Cullen had been bored to death all afternoon of thorough discussion of the peace talks in Hilamshiral. In the War Room he stood with Josephine and Leliana, going over the details, starting first with what security measures might be necessary to take, what agents might need to be placed, and where, at the Winter Palace. But at some point the discussion shifted to other less pertinent issues.

Such as mannerism and etiquette, as well as selecting outfits for the event. To which Cullen groaned and lolled his head. While he found the discussion of Orlesian politics to be rather crucial, considering the circumstances, so therefore he indulged the Ambassador and the Spymaster in discussion of the Grand Game, he did not find it even the slightest bit an apt use of his time to talk fashion, or what fork was used at dinner.

But as the peace talks were not only a council meeting, indeed they were in the form of a masquerade, complete with dinner and dancing, it was necessary, they said. It would be Val Chevin all over again, but this time with the fate of a country hanging in the balance. And while Cullen managed to hold his head above the water at the Comte's little soirée, this would be much different, and much more would be expected of all of them.

"Wouldn't I be better suited to standing guard at the door?" he groused.

Leliana snorted. "Perhaps. As loudly as you bark, they might confuse you for a mabari."

Both women giggled. Cullen sighed. All this talk of dinner made him think of Dorian. He'd probably ruined everything by asking Dorian to dine with him. And judging by how poorly he was handling the talk of Hilamshiral, he'd likely ruin dinner anyway, so maybe it was better if Dorian turned him down. He wouldn't have to suffer the shame and embarrassment of making an arse of himself in front of the noble.

He stewed over it in his office, after excusing himself from Josephine and Leliana's presence.

And while Cullen stewed, Dorian fidgeted, twirling his ring around his finger in quiet anxiety, after bringing up the subject of Lyrium withdrawal to Solas in the library. Under the guise of a curious scholar, he'd made mention of it, and asked Solas what he thought of such an idea, removing Lyrium through magic. The elf turned, looked him up and down, then said, "You're absolutely insane," and turned back to his painting.

"Madness and genius aren't too distantly related, you know," he'd commented, but Solas huffed.

"You would likely kill the Templar in attempt," Solas told him, and that's when he started fidgeting. "Unless it's a Red Templar, I highly doubt that's the purpose of your study, is it?"

"Well, no," Dorian shook his head. "But if I found a way to do it...would you be interested in participating? You have some...feasible skill at healing. It could be useful."

Solas paused, brush in hand, thinking it over for a moment, then sighed. "I might be," he answered reluctantly, and Dorian walked away from discussion.

If all he would accomplish was kill Cullen in the process, he would sooner give up the attempt. But one of the reasons he and his former mentor ever got so far with their research was because Dorian was never one to simply 'give up'. He would find the answer, he just needed more time. For the moment, they had the time, but how much longer would Cullen last? Especially with the stress of running the Inquisition?

He didn't know, and couldn't say. But he would sooner cut off his own arm than hurt Cullen.

Cullen...who was so Maker-damned perfect at all hours of the day.

_'I just want to be with you.'..._

He'd thought about what he and the Commander discussed during their lunch hour. The prospect of wining and dining the former Templar, and he'd never given Cullen an answer. He'd kept him in the dark all afternoon, and should probably rectify that immediately. He crossed the hall and headed out onto the bridge that led to the battlements, then knocked on Cullen's door. "It's open," he heard, and Dorian went inside.

There he was, standing near his desk, dropping a report on the table that he'd been previously reading–dropping everything the minute Dorian entered the room–eyes focused on him, apprehension in his features. He stepped completely into the room as Cullen was slowly edging around the desk, hands reflexively perched atop the pommel of the sword at his hip. "How's work coming along?" Dorian asked.

"As well as can be expected," Cullen answered. "And yours?"

"Exceedingly droll as I expected," he complained, half-hearted, to which the Commander huffed, mildly amused, and edged closer still. So did Dorian. They regarded one another for a moment before Dorian finally said, "It's a terrible idea, and we really shouldn't consider it. You're under enough stress."

"And I'm managing that stress just fine, Dorian. You are well aware of that."

"And should all of Skyhold learn of this, suddenly our private affairs won't be so private."

"We spend almost all of our free time together already. I like my privacy as well, Dorian, but I highly doubt anyone would so much as bat an eyelash at us having dinner."

Dorian edged just a little closer, within arms reach of the man.

"They would if they knew what you plan on having for dessert," he purred seductively, and Cullen suddenly became quite flustered. He sighed and looked away.

"You could just say no," Cullen groused, slightly irritated. "I would understand. You don't have to make excuses."

Oh but that wasn't a no.

"But I do have one condition," Dorian told him, and Cullen's brows raised in his surprise, eyes then darting over Dorian's face in sudden realization. "Namely, _I'll_ handle the food. I'm not sure I can trust your opinion regarding tonight's cuisine. However, you can pick the place."

"Uhm–where–wherever you prefer," he stammered. Dorian thought about that. Hmm, the tavern was too crowded. Great Hall was still too public. The garden, while it had lovely aesthetics and an earthly, rustic charm, was too cold at night, and not private enough. But Dorian's quarters, while they were warm, ingenuously inviting, and most certainly private, had no table...however, Cullen's did.

"Here," Dorian said, and Cullen nodded, absently massaging the back of his neck. "So I'll see you tonight then."

"Tonight," Cullen agreed, and let out a breath like he'd been holding it the entire conversation. Maybe he had. Dorian smirked. He stepped closer still, boldly leaned in, and pecked Cullen's cheek with a kiss, then watched the Commander turn a beautiful shade of scarlet.

"Tonight," Dorian repeated, and left Cullen to his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"...He looked like a child just then, so innocent and clueless, when he stuffed his face with sweets. So instead of scolding him for such behavior, he focused on the game he was bent on winning..."_
> 
> Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Dorian Pavus, madly in love with Cullen Rutherford.  
> \---  
>  _"...Yes, he'd been fairly gullible in his youth, and actually believed one of his fellow Templars in training when they said something involving the word 'snatch', and he took it literally..."_
> 
> ...and Cullen Rutherford.


	16. Fine Dining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is a total foodie.
> 
> Cullen is in way over his head.
> 
> Bon appetit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry today's update was so unforgivably late. I'm trying to stay at least a chapter ahead of my posting to allow for editing and rewriting if necessary, so I wanted to wait until I had most of 17 written before I posted this. Hit a little bit of a block, but all should be good now.
> 
> Here, have some first date jitters, fine Tevinter cooking, odd topics of conversation, and a bit of groping.

Dorian utterly refused to allow the two of them yet another Ferelden meal. While Cook was talented with what poor amenities Skyhold had to work with, for his dinner with the Commander of the Inquisition, Dorian would eat something _other_ than cured ham, salted fish, or whatever monstrosity thrown together in the kitchens that day. No, Dorian had something far better planned for them that evening.

Cullen took the initiative to ask Dorian to dinner, to prove he would not be a wasted effort. Now it was Dorian's turn, to not be a waste of the Commander's precious time.

So Dorian Pavus, most recently of Minrathous, would cook for Cullen.

He'd never had to cook much in his youth. After all, there were servants for that. But as a child he found he much rather enjoyed being anywhere but in the company of his obnoxious family, or his tutors, and so a portion of his childhood was spent sneaking off to the kitchens to pester the cooks, and watch them, picking up a few tricks along the way. And since working there in the south for the Inquisition, he rather depended on that skill.

Southern food was terrible, really, though some dishes weren't half bad, but it was mostly tasteless stews with overcooked meat and crusts of bread, whatever the Inquisition could afford. And Orlesian food? Evidently, even worse. So if Dorian wanted all the rich flavors of home, he had to make it himself. No cook had the patience for him to teach them the trade, nor did anyone want to try anything from Tevinter.

But he had a feeling Cullen would be more open to the experience, and might finally learn what good taste really was. The meal itself only took about an hour to prepare, during which Dorian had to improvise a little, considering how sparsely the kitchen was stocked with proper ingredients. And Maker, don't get him started on the selection of herbs and spices. It was laughable, their idea of spices, or should he say lack thereof.

But not a minute too soon was the meal prepared, separated onto plates, arranged on the platter, and a bottle of wine was stolen from the cellar–a weak current, for if there were any possibility of getting lucky that evening, he wanted to make sure both he and the Commander were mostly sober. No more drunken confessions, no more half-hearted attempts, nor any loss of inhibition. But one simply doesn't sample Tevinter cooking without a good wine.

The destination, Cullen's office, it had been decided. And in case a dire situation came to fruition, people would know where to find Cullen, should he be needed. But there, they would have privacy, rest assured. He asked his men on patrol to make their route some other way than through his office that evening, and when he said ask, he really meant ordered. For once, his office would be inaccessible, unless they were under attack.

Cullen never did that. But, alas, he did now, just this once, for Dorian.

Cullen was practically shaking in his boots with anticipation that evening, as he milled about his office, organizing things–for once–so that he could make room on his desk to have their meal, searching out more candles so they had sufficient lighting, and whatever odds and ends he thought he should do to prepare. Which included removing his armor for comfort's sake. He didn't know why he was nervous, it was just dinner, but...

Well, he'd never done this before. Had a private dinner with someone, for any reason, that he could ever recall. Let alone with Dorian. What if he ruined it? What if he slipped up and said or did something Dorian didn't approve of? He knew that he was overreacting about the whole thing, as it was only dinner, and it wasn't like the two of them had never spent private moments together before. But this time it was...well, it was _more_.

It wasn't just a friendly game of chess, nor was it supper in the keep, but something a bit more intimate, and Cullen was nervously running his hands through his hair, staring at his desk, agonizing over the whole thing when he heard Dorian knock. He went to open the door for the man, holding it open as his hands were full, then closed–and locked–the door behind him. He locked all the doors. They would have no interruptions.

He turned to watch the mage stroll over to his desk. Dorian looked... _marvelous_. When did he not? But never before had Cullen truly appreciated that. But right now, right this moment, he took the time to do just that, as he slid the locks in place. Unabashedly, he admired Dorian, who had discarded his typical modicum of dress for a loose fitting tunic made of royal blue silk brocade, black samite trousers and matching boots.

He no longer felt quite so embarrassed by that either. By allowing his eyes to wander over Dorian's form. Not so much like it was inappropriate, or scandalous in any way. Once moving past his initial fears, and all hesitancy–now that there was nothing to distract him, no one there to stop him, nor anything obstructing his observations–his mind rather opened to the prospect and he learned there was indeed _much_ to admire about Dorian.

He would never forgive Halward Pavus for trying to change his son...but he might consider thanking him for that smooth, flawless complexion and that feathery black hair Cullen suddenly itched to run his fingers through, curious to know if it were as soft as it looked. The flecks of gold and veridium in his eyes, the little mark on his right cheek bone, like a dot of ink. Oh, what was it called? There was a name for it. That, whatever it was, definitely that.

Dorian Pavus was a beautiful man.

Perfectly coiffed and tailored, as always, and so far out of Cullen's league he often wondered why in Thedas Dorian would ever want to be with him if _not_ for sex.

But remembering the reasons they were friends was what kept him from bolting from the room in sheer panic.

 _It's only dinner, after all,_ he thought.

He approached the mage, peering down at the volley of items in tow.

He was jittery, right up until he smelled the food, and grew curious, all other thought leaving his head when Dorian set down the tray on the desk, the wine bottle next to it, and lifted the lid. Steam rose up, and once the fog dissipated, Cullen was face to face with something utterly bizarre, and he cocked his head in confusion. Not sure if what he was seeing was actually edible, let alone food. "What's this?" he asked.

Dorian chuckled lightly. "It's pasta, Cullen."

"Pasta?" he repeated.

Dorian nodded. " _Farinae subactae._ It's Tevene."

Cullen lifted a brow. "Alright, but...what is it?"

"You mean what's it made of?" Cullen nodded. "Flour."

"Ah." He eyed the food still. "It doesn't really look like..." He scratched his head. But it smelled really good though.

 _Oh this is just too precious_ , Dorian thought.

The literal man of his dreams staring at the dish like it would leap off the desk and start singing one of Maryden's bawdier tunes.

It was so adorable the mage thought he might die.

And he didn't fail to notice how Cullen had removed his armor for the occasion–actually let down his guard–the pieces hung on the stand nearby, and the Commander only wore a tunic and breeches for once. He never dressed to impress, of course, relying on what was practical. What kept him warm, what was comfortable enough padding under his armor. But he was as put together as he could manage.

And, quite frankly, in the mage's opinion, Cullen's tight, form fitting under armor of lustrous cotton made the warrior look good enough to _eat_ , pun intended.

"Sit," he graciously offered, gesturing to the chair, and dutifully Cullen sat, while Dorian arranged their plates and popped the cork on the wine. Cullen started to protest, when he saw the wine being poured, but Dorian was quick to say, "A little wine with dinner never hurt anyone, Commander," and he closed his mouth. Dorian briefly glanced around to notice that his office had been immaculately cleaned and looked significantly brighter too.

It melted his heart. It was long overdue, that Cullen should set aside the time to organize his things, but he was always far too busy. And though it was much the simple gesture, the fact that he took the time to clean, that he set aside all other matters for the evening, attempting to make it a more worthwhile experience for Dorian, was rather sweet. And just so entirely... _Cullen_ of him. He happily sat across from the man, and picked up his fork.

He stifled laughter at how Cullen looked so lost, struggling to get his food to stay on the fork. The noodles wanted to slip right off like a fish slithering about. "Like this," Dorian said, and showed him how one properly eats _farinae subactae_ without looking completely ridiculous. Brows raised, as if to say 'Oh', and he followed suit, tentatively taking a bite of his dinner. He brightened, as if he'd just found the Maker himself.

He forcibly swallowed to say, "This is delicious," then immediately dove in for a second bite before he'd hardly taken the time to enjoy the first.

"Oh come now, don't be a pig," Dorian chided, and Cullen ducked his head, swallowing.

"Sorry," he said. "It's _really_ good."

Dorian smiled warmly. "I'm glad you like it," he said, and made no more comment on Cullen's poor manners, but neither did Cullen eat so slovenly either. He slowed down, allowed himself to actually enjoy the meal he so highly praised. Dorian sipped his wine, that surprisingly complimented the food, though Cullen didn't touch his. They were silent for a time, concentrating on their meals.

Until Cullen said, "I never realized Cook knew how to make anything from Tevinter."

"Cook didn't make it," Dorian corrected. "I did."

Cullen blinked in surprise. "You cooked?"

"Is that so unbelievable?"

"Well, I just...I never knew you could cook. How did you learn?"

Dorian took a breath, shrugging, saying, "What better way to avoid one's high society family than hiding in the kitchen among the servants. I learned a few tricks."

"So that's where you spent all your days, was it?" Cullen asked.

"Partly," Dorian answered. "There, and anywhere my tutor wasn't looking."

And here Cullen thought the evening would be so awkward. But he stood corrected, as his questions opened Dorian right up, and launched them into discussion of what it was like growing up in Tevinter. Had Cullen in a fit of laughter when he went into greater detail of how, though he was a brilliant student, he tormented all his teachers and made them so exasperated their hair would stick up in odd places.

As they ate, they traded stories of their childhood, which eventually led to other topics, but before either knew it, an hour later, long after their food had settled, they were still talking. Lounging in their seats, Dorian currently in a fit of giggling after Cullen told him of the pranks he used to pull on his sister, the sort that would put Sera's life's work to total shame. "–She wouldn't go anywhere near druffalos after that," he'd concluded.

Dorian snickered, and said, "It's a wonder the woman will even speak to you."

Cullen grinned mischievously.

They'd discussed many things in the months of knowing one another. Their careers, mainly, most usually whatever topic had to do with the situation at hand. Once, they'd discussed their differences in religion, their shared belief in the Maker, but also their reservations regarding much of the Chantry's practices, both the northern and the southern. Their similarities, and their philosophies, gleaning more understanding of one another.

Sometimes agreeing to disagree, but finding a few more things they had in common.

One afternoon, not long after arriving at Skyhold, they'd even discussed the topic of slavery and its practice in Tevinter. Cullen would never condone slavers kidnapping people, taking them from their beds and selling them to the highest bidder like Lyrium on the black market, but he did allow for the fact that not everyone in the Imperium bided by this cruel practice, despite the rumors otherwise. There were laws that were meant to be followed.

But Dorian conceded that while many were treated as respectfully as the servants at Skyhold, and there were policies in place to ward against abuse, not everyone in Tevinter wanted to follow the letter of the law. Though it was a struggle to regulate the practice. And it wouldn't be as easy as simply letting everyone go free. There were many that depended on their contractual obligations to care for their families.

Indentured servitude was a crucial part of the economy, as well as an ongoing debate among the upper class.

One of the topics in which they agreed to disagree, abandoned in favor of another.

And of course they'd discussed Dorian's mastery of magic, as well as Cullen's life as a Templar–sparingly–but tonight, they weren't just sharing their opinions, but sharing their _lives_. Cullen enjoyed this, greatly, and started to wonder why he was ever nervous in the first place. This was much like any other moment spent with Dorian, only now he didn't have to worry about someone bursting through his door to interrupt, nor were they focused on work.

Instead he could focus on the way Dorian's eyes lit up when he laughed, and the way he didn't seem so condescending the longer Cullen was around him, but instead just seemed playful. His sarcastic attitude didn't sound so diminutive, but more of an ode to his childish sense of humor. Especially after hearing what he was actually like as a child. And Cullen learned they were somewhat similar as young boys.

They had a bit of a rebellious streak, the two of them. Dorian abandoned his lessons in culture and etiquette in favor of hiding in the kitchens, stealing chocolate and listening to the servants gossip. Cullen abandoned his chores in favor of chasing the farm animals with sticks, sneaking off to the fishing docks, and sometimes watching the Templars at the local Chantry train. Dorian grew into his magic, and Cullen grew tall enough to lift a sword.

And both, while they loved their respective vocations, didn't care for the politics attached.

Dorian resented the responsibility that came with being a mage in Tevinter, and Cullen...resented _everything_. But they were very talented, and therefore rather privileged to learn skills they wouldn't otherwise, given the matter of station. Dorian finally opened up about Felix, told him the story of how he contracted the Blight, attempting to rescue his mother, and Cullen dared to ask what his father was like, sans Corypheus' influence.

"Gereon was brilliant," Dorian told him. "I never met a man I admired more as a source of learning. I've always loved the study of magic, but I'd never truly appreciated it until I met him. Of course, I suppose I should've seen it coming sooner, that a man so impassioned by his pursuit would fall prey to madness. Had he not been so driven to keep Felix alive, perhaps he would still be here. But before he lost his mind, he was...truly a genius."

Dorian took another sip of wine, a little sad now, in thought of Alexius, and didn't wish to ruin the evening, but Cullen only nodded in understanding. What Dorian wouldn't give to have Alexius there now, to throw all his ideas at, and hear his opinion on Cullen's withdrawal. No doubt Alexius would easily find the solution, or show Dorian a new way of looking at the problem that he hadn't before, so that he might solve it himself.

But Alexius was dead. Felix was dead. And the mystery of the Lyrium in Cullen's body almost mocked him for it.

"What was your father like?" Cullen then asked, and Dorian ceased rubbing his chin, meeting the Commander's curious gaze. The shock must have shown on his face, for Cullen grimaced a little. "Still too soon, perhaps?"

Dorian blinked rapidly. "I...didn't realize you would be curious of my father," he corrected. "You don't think too highly of him."

"Of course I don't," Cullen told him. "I could never forgive someone for resorting to blood magic, much less ever forgive the man for trying to change you. There's nothing wrong with you. He should've accepted you, as you are. There's nothing that needs changing."

Dorian shifted uncomfortably. He didn't realize how desperately he needed to hear that from someone, that there was nothing wrong with him, until Cullen said it. It made him want to leap across the table and mercilessly squeeze him, tightly, and he had to fight the urge. Because he knew he wouldn't stop at the embrace. It would start there, but end up in the loft, both of them tangled up in Cullen's sheets, sweaty from steamy love making.

He managed to refrain from acting on that fantasy, and simply said, "Ah, so you finally concede to the fact that I'm beautiful, witty, and charming, is it?"

Cullen snorted. "Have I ever said otherwise?"

 _Oh he's getting good at this,_ Dorian thought. "Why thank you, Commander," he quipped.

But Cullen regarded Dorian's unease, evident by his sudden shift into flirtatiousness, as a reaction to the topic of conversation, Dorian's father, and said, "Look, we don't have to talk about him. I just thought...well, if you wanted. Or...if you ever want to, I won't mind. If any time you need to talk. About anything, really. I can't promise I'll understand, but I can listen, if you need someone to."

"That's...very kind of you," Dorian told him. And that was also a two-way street. But Dorian gathered long before now that there were simply some conversations they might not ever have. "But you know, I believe I've done most of the talking this evening, Commander," he said, veering away from the topic of Halward Pavus, "You've already indulged me enough as it were. What about you? What were your parents like?"

Cullen breathed a sigh, not even putting up a fight, and dropping the subject of Halward to say, "Sometimes I wonder if I even remember them correctly." Running a hand through his golden hair. "I left for Templar training when I was thirteen. That was the last time I saw them, other than the rare visit, before the Blight. It just...it's been seventeen years." He huffed disbelievingly when he realized that. "I...can't picture them anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It might be the Lyrium. It causes some memory loss, some disorientation, but...I don't remember what my mother and father looked like," he admitted, and Dorian was hit with a pang of sadness for the man. "I...can see Mia. Bran. Rosie was too young when I left. I don't remember playing with her much really. Though I can remember myself, Bran, and Mia together, obviously. But..."

He sighed again, and kneaded his brow in consternation.

"I mean, of all the things to forget..."

He cut himself off, didn't even attempt to finish that sentence, and judging by Dorian's expression, Cullen guessed he'd succeeded in ruining the whole evening for the both of them. But he couldn't be sure. Most days, Dorian was easy for him to read. Well, easier than some. He could chalk most of what Dorian said up as sarcasm, and usually he could see right through his façade, and pick up on the underlying emotions.

But not at the moment. Dorian simply lounged across from him with an indiscernible expression, like the night they sat in the Gull And Lantern, brushing his lower lip with his thumb, deep in thought, but reluctant to share. Well, perhaps it was high time they call it a night. Cullen didn't want Dorian to leave, really wanted him to stay, but didn't think he'd want to, and opened his mouth to suggest they turn in.

"You haven't touched your wine," Dorian commented, before he got the chance. His eyes flicked to the untouched glass beside his plate.

"I...didn't think it wise," he explained. "Not after what happened on the battlements."

"Oh one glass wouldn't hurt," Dorian waved him off, but Cullen was inclined to disagree.

"I wouldn't trust myself to keep my hands off you," he admitted, and Dorian blinked rapidly. "I gave you my word, Dorian, it would only be dinner if you wished." He bit his lip, chuckling, then said, "But I'll be damned if it hasn't been difficult to keep from breaking that promise." The scar on his lip tugging upward in a rueful smile for a moment. And such was the statement to unravel that very last stitch of resolve Dorian still possessed.

 _Fasta vas, this man will be the death of me_ , he thought.

He could've done anything, really. Made a show of turning down Cullen's affections, splashing his wine glass in the Commander's face and storming out with a huff. Been honest with the man about his reservations, his utmost inner fears. He could've at least walked away. But...instead he took one final sip of his half-empty glass, and gently set it on the desk. Then regarded Cullen for a moment still, before slowly rising from his seat.

Cullen's heart pounded in his chest when Dorian made his way around the desk, then carefully perched himself on the Commander's lap. Before he could even grasp what was happening, Dorian's mouth was on his, one hand brushing through his hair, the other slipping under his shirt to trace his abdomen, then inch up his chest. And Cullen, most eager to touch, let his hand rest at Dorian's thigh, slowly sliding up, squeezing, and Maker did Dorian feel good.

Better than he could have imagined. This was different, but exciting, and he was trembling with nervous energy. With every touch, with every swirl of that magnificent tongue of his, Cullen was steadily getting hard. Dorian noticed that fact, and practically purred like a cat, rather contentedly. But this was not where the evening was supposed to end up. At most, it was meant to–hopefully–end with a kiss goodnight.

Not with Dorian in his lap like this, sadly.

"Dorian," Cullen murmured, "I meant what I said. I just wanted dinner. We don't have to-"

"Ah-ah, Commander," he chided, placing a finger over Cullen's mouth. "We _had_ dinner, Cullen. And it was lovely. But now I want dessert." His hand then moved from Cullen's mouth to his cheek, before lips came crashing to his once more, halting any protest on the Commander's part. Arms wrapped tighter around him, clinging fiercely, and the most delicious moan escaped Cullen, driving Dorian further to ruin.

He slowly moved from his mouth to his jaw, then his neck, Cullen's breath catching at every turn, and his hand slipped down to palm his groin, then stroke his erection. This sent him reeling, careening into the touch. "It–it wouldn't be very...g-gentlemanly of me," he said between gasps for air.

"You've been a near perfect gentleman all evening, Cullen," Dorian reminded, starting to undo the laces of his trousers. "And now it's time to start being the scoundrel I know you want to be." Laces undone, he slipped in his hand, but Cullen quickly reached to stay it.

"We should talk about this," he said.

"Is this not what you want, Cullen?" Dorian asked.

"I've never wanted anything more."

"Then stop saying no."

"I'm not saying no. But is this what _you_ want, Dorian?"

"I want less talking, and more doing," he said, then shushed him with a kiss, feeling him shift restlessly, impatiently. Though Cullen made a good point. He pulled away again. "But you're right, I suppose," he said. "We should talk about this. We need rules, Commander."

"Rules?"

"Yes, rules of engagement, darling, so that neither of us pay too steeply a price for this."

"Ah-alright," Cullen agreed, though leery about what those rules might be, for the man was quite serious just then, as if they were planning an operation in the War Room. Dorian gave it a moment of thought.

"The first rule: If I do something you don't approve of, you have to tell me."

"Alright."

"The second: If you do something I don't approve of, you must respect my wishes."

"Of course."

"And the third; it's the most important: No matter what happens between us, we mustn't allow it to affect our friendship."

Now that, even more to than the first two, Cullen could readily agree to.

"It won't ever," he promised, and at that, Dorian was satisfied. As was Cullen, he supposed. Well, satisfied with conversation, at least. But he doubted it would take very long for him to find release, at the pace Dorian was going. He let go of his hand, and allowed him to touch him as he pleased, letting out a sigh, almost in relief. Indeed, it was quite the relief. Dorian was masterful with those hands of his, just like his mouth.

He was about to suggest they make their way up to the second floor, when there came a knock on Cullen's door to startle them both, causing Dorian to withdraw.

"Dammit, I told Leliana I would not be disturbed," Cullen growled vehemently. "What?!" he then barked at the intruder.

"A letter for you, sir," said the voice, one of Josephine's messengers.

"Is the Elder One attacking us?" Cullen asked.

"Uh, no, sir?"

"Then go! NOW!" he bellowed, and both heard the sound of frantic running slowly fading.

"Vishante kaffas, I love it when you do that," Dorian sighed, making Cullen glance up at him. Then he slid off Cullen's lap and grabbed his hand, gently tugging. "Come. Up the ladder with you," he commanded softly, and Cullen didn't hesitate to follow.

He'd sampled the appetizer.

Now to be served the main course of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _farinae subactae_ -according to Google Translate, this is Latin for 'pasta'. As for the actual dish? That would be _tagliatelle di castagne_ , for anyone curious.
> 
> Stayed tuned for smut! :D


	17. Dessert Anyone?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toss up your scarves, Dowager!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm keeping the rating at Mature for now, because I highly doubt my descriptions of their sexual encounters will ever be too obscenely graphic to warrant E rating. However, if anyone feels this should be Explicit, do let me know, and let me know why.
> 
> And I hope you enjoy.
> 
> -SB

Cullen's heart was raging in his chest.

He followed Dorian up the ladder, but hung back towards the entrance while the mage explored the room, lightened only by moonlight, with critical eye. He seemed hesitant all of the sudden, not quite so eager as he did moments ago downstairs on Cullen's lap. Instead he wandered around, soaking in the destitution, the loose boards on the floor, the hole in the ceiling that had never been patched up.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious about it.

The room served its purpose well enough, but Maker if it wasn't embarrassing now.

"Had I known you would be up here, I might've cleaned up this mess," he said, and Dorian turned to face him.

"You were serious, then?" he asked, as if Cullen had never been in the first place. "You truly only wished to have dinner with me?"

"Of course I was serious about that," he said.

He couldn't describe Dorian's expression then, and it was too dark up there to really get a good look at his face, but Dorian stepped closer until he was within arms' reach again. And suddenly Cullen was hesitant. His heart pounded when Dorian reached to run his hands up his chest, and his throat felt dry momentarily. All those nagging little doubts were starting to rise up again, and he was terrified of disappointing Dorian.

But his hands rose to cup his face as he leaned in for a kiss, and it was almost instinctive that Cullen's arms should wrap around him. It felt... _right_. Different than what he was accustomed to, but Dorian felt so warm, solid, and when he inched his hands under his tunic he was met with soft, smooth skin. He felt wonderful, and Cullen couldn't help but pull him closer as they kissed, pressing tight against him.

He could feel Dorian's arousal, and it was a boost to his ego he didn't know he needed until just then. He would have absolutely no confidence otherwise. But he knew where this would lead, and he was nervous still.

"Dorian," he said, breaking the kiss, "I've never done this before."

"I'm well aware of that, Cullen."

"I...w-what I mean to say is...I have no idea what I'm doing," he admitted. "I don't want to be a disappointment to you."

Dorian didn't think he _could_ be. He could feel the way Cullen touched, how his fingers absently brushed the small of his back affectionately as he spoke. Inexperienced, yes, but Dorian doubted he would be anything but a kind, attentive lover, most eager to please. He need only know what he wished, how to give, how to ask for what he wanted in turn. But Dorian didn't want to intimidate the man by jumping right into sex.

However, giving the Commander of the Inquisition the most intense orgasm he'd ever experienced, or would ever experience, in his life?

Now that was a bar Dorian could set.

"Oh Cullen," he sighed, running his fingers through the man's hair. "Just kiss me, you beautiful fool," he teased softly. "And we'll go from there."

That Cullen could do, so he did, and followed when Dorian tugged on his shirt, leading them to the bed. Just sort of fell into him really, both collapsing on the mattress, the frame creaking under their weight, and they kicked their boots off. Scooted further onto the bed to rest more comfortably. Cullen, aching to touch, to explore, carefully unbuttoned Dorian's tunic as they kissed, til it splayed open and he could run his hands across his skin.

To feel muscle flexing under his touch, the slight dusting of hair on his chest, and Dorian's heart pounding beneath his palm. Everywhere he touched seemed to excite the mage, every line he traced with his finger tips. So he let his hands wander where they might, feeling Dorian do the same, reaching under his shirt to caress his back. Then reaching down to squeeze his arse, humming appreciatively.

But Cullen only had control for another half second before the tables were completely turned, and Dorian, who was surprisingly strong, adeptly flipped them over, and Cullen was now on his back with the mage above him. It took the warrior by surprise–but of course, why should the noble cease to amaze him?–and as adamant as he had been before, Dorian was now more so; touching, kissing, teasing, driving Cullen mad.

His hand resumed its attentions, reaching in his trousers to curl around his shaft, applying just the right amount of pressure, slowly jerking him. It was the most sublime torture. This was probably the most blasphemous thought to have, but if there truly was a god, Cullen was certain he'd found them. In the form of Dorian Pavus. _Maker forgive me,_ he thought, _but this is no mere mortal man, but surely a demon of desire._

Such a thought made his heart race for a moment, thinking maybe he _had_ stumbled upon another nightmare, that maybe Dorian was a demon, but no, he couldn't be. This was entirely too real, this experience. Not like the hundreds of variations of dream. Though admittedly, he'd fantazised about such things as of late. Minutes later, Dorian withdrew, and instead pulled down his trousers to free his cock from its cloth prison.

Then came his mouth, sinking down on it in one fluid movement. "Sweet Maker!" Cullen exclaimed, making Dorian hum, and in turn he shuddered at the pleasurable feel of it. Indeed it was glorious, the way he smoothly glided along his shaft, tongue swirling around the head whenever he reached it. Cullen couldn't say if it were simply his experience, or that he merely did things he also found pleasurable, or what, per say–

He couldn't be certain of anything at all for his mind was reeling!

–But it was ever so good, and he felt his release steadily building, so easily too. He moved to prop himself on his elbows to allow for a better view of Dorian's ingenious mouth. His eyes had adjusted somewhat in the darkness, his vision clearer, and the sight of the Tevinter Altus so cleverly sucking his cock was a sight he would never wish to unsee. He didn't object to Cullen reaching out to run fingers through his hair, then tug on it.

Oh and it _was_ soft. Just like his mouth. So velvety soft and decadent, like Orlesian silk. His hand soon aided his mouth, making Cullen groan appreciatively, enthralled not only by the sight, but by the feel of it. Absolute perfection.

Sooner than expected, he reached the apex of his orgasm, knew that at any moment he'd come tumbling over that edge, and thought to warn Dorian. "Maker, I think I'm go to-" was all he could manage, but thankfully it was enough time for the mage to pull back, should he wish, and he did so, resigning to stroking with his hand as Cullen came, spilling onto his stomach, and he flopped backwards on the bed, breathless.

The only coherent thought he could manage that first minute or so was, _Why did I ever want to be with women?_ He didn't realize he'd spoken it aloud, however, until he heard Dorian chuckling. He did the same, palming his face, feeling Dorian get up to search for something with which to wipe up the spill. Rather considerate of the man. "There we are," he heard him say, just before he rested on the bed once more.

"That was..." Oh, Cullen couldn't even begin to describe how incredible that was. But it was. And so he finished with, " _Incredible_ ," watching Dorian's features flash with an overly smug grin–too smug even for him–as he cleaned him up, then tossed the handkerchief aside and came to rest on top of Cullen, who hadn't the willpower to move yet still. So he lay there, panting, staring up at Dorian in awe, and total disbelief.

"So the Commander approves, does he?" Dorian asked.

"Greatly," he sighed, then pulled him down for a kiss, hardly caring where his mouth had only just been, and already making up his mind to return the favor once he found the strength. Holy Andraste, where had this man been all his life?! A rhetorical question, of course, yet so, Cullen wondered how it was that he had missed out on this. Enthusiastically, he nudged Dorian into a sitting position, now straddling him, and undid his laces.

"Someone's eager to return the favor," he remarked, and Cullen nodded once, biting his lip.

"I do like to play a fair game," he quipped, and Dorian chuckled, but then sighed, as Cullen reached to wrap his hand around him and jerk him off.

He doubted he could replicate the absolute flawlessness that was Dorian's mouth–wasn't entirely sure just yet how he felt about doing that–but fair was fair, and unlike Dorian, who was such a miserable cheat whenever they played chess, indeed Cullen liked to play fair, and thought it only so that he should return the favor. So carefully he stroked, Dorian only needing a moment to guide his hand before he found a sufficient rhythm.

This was strange, though not dissimilar to pleasuring himself, only at an angle he was unaccustomed to, and it wasn't as if he could feel the pressure building, to know if what he did was satisfying to Dorian. But he found it quite pleasurable, evidently, as he was already hard to start with, but was now trembling, on the verge of release. It was the most fascinating thing Cullen had ever witnessed, the sight of Dorian coming undone.

His normally neat and tidy hair now mussed, his typically derisive air now that of pure rapture, and utter ecstacy, the way he shook in the most delightful manner, the way a sheen of sweat began to form on his brow, and he thrust into his hand. Cullen felt quite powerful just then, having this effect on him. He sat up to pull Dorian to him, entangling them in a kiss as he worked to please him, his mouth eventually drifting to his neck and shoulder.

With a strangled moan he came and Cullen broke from kiss to watch, curious just then, and rather aroused by it, as Dorian spilled onto his hand, and his lap. His head dropped to Cullen's shoulder, and he panted heavily, now on the receiving end of such bliss. Unable to resist the temptation, Cullen continued to pleasure him a moment longer, feeling him grip his shirt tightly, breath hitching, then bite his shoulder at the intensity of it.

He mumbled something incoherent in Tevene, and Cullen could only wonder what he was saying. He let go, feeling Dorian sag against him. Then held him a moment longer, simply enjoying the closeness, the intimacy, both having been stripped and vulnerable, for both to see. It was an odd feeling, this nameless feeling he experienced just then. But not an unwelcome feeling. Just... _new_.

After a minute or so, he cleaned them up, and helped Dorian to right himself. Affixed his own attire as well. But then wondered what to do now. He was at a complete loss.

Unbeknownst to the Commander, Dorian was as well.

This was usually the part where either the gentleman he was with simply dressed and made themselves scarce, or Dorian said, 'Right, well, you've had your fun, now leave me.' Shoving them through the door with a huff. And Cullen didn't know how to respond knowing he couldn't simply pay the man his sovereigns and curtly leave the establishment, like one would were this Kirkwall, and services rendered in the Rose.

So...what was meant to happen now?

He stared up at Dorian. Dorian stared down at him.

Then, both abruptly burst into a fit of laughter, in total disbelief.

"I have to say, Commander, you don't cease to amaze," Dorian told the man, to which Cullen quirked a brow.

"I might say the same, Mister Pavus," he said, chuckling.

And then they shared a look. Neither could really say what the other was thinking, but...both wanted to do this again. As soon as possible.

But it wouldn't happen tonight, sadly. "It's getting late," Dorian sighed, and so did Cullen. "I should go back to my quarters. And you should get some sleep."

"I'd ask if you wanted to stay," He glanced around the room, "But given the state of things."

"Not to mention the number of people that might notice me entering your quarters at night, but not leaving til morning, yes? Oh but that reminds me, I've been meaning to ask, why exactly is there a hole in your roof? You realize there are builders at Skyhold to repair such things."

Cullen shrugged. "It's not a hazard," he said. "And," He glanced up at the hole in question, through which moonlight filtered in, "Well, I rather like it," he admitted. "I can see the stars, and...well, I don't feel so...trapped." Dorian blinked at what he heard, and the precise way Cullen said that, absently rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. Now, why would the Commander ever have a fear of being trapped? A curious thing.

"Well, you should consider fixing it," he suggested. "Tis a bit drafty, you know."

"Sorry," Cullen mumbled. Then he sighed.

So this was goodnight, was it?

He supposed it was just as well. Though he hated that Dorian had to go, perhaps the mage was right, it was better that he stay in his own room, rather than with Cullen. And he'd only keep Dorian awake with his fitful sleep, He doubted the mage would be too happy with that. And he really didn't want to have to explain to Dorian just why he had fitful dreams, nor how he received them. "Shall I walk you back to your room?" he asked.

"Ever the gentleman, are we?" Dorian teased, making Cullen snort. "Well, as sweet of you as that would be, Commander, if you hadn't noticed, there is a certain Madame that likes to keep perched on a particular balcony, one that has a splendid view of your tower. A certain Madame that likes to spread gossip, and should Vivienne happen to see the two of us leaving your office, she might conjure all sorts of ideas about it."

Cullen worried his lip. "No, I don't suppose that would be good at all, would it."

"No, it wouldn't."

Dorian got up from the bed and started to button his shirt, face contorted into a frown, and Cullen's heart sped up. "Dorian," he said, rising to stand before him, placing a hand on his arm, and he paused in his ministrations, glancing up at him. "Dorian, I..." The mage gaped at him in confusion for a moment, as Cullen searched for words. "Look, I don't want you to think that I...well, that you're some sort of dirty secret to be kept from everyone-"

"Now why would I think such a thing, Cullen?" he asked, with a huff.

"I just thought perhaps-"

"Ah, let me stop you there," he said, slipping his arms around Cullen's waist. "While I think it's very sweet of you to wish me no ill, you have a reputation to think of, Commander," he reminded. "And so do I. Would do neither of us good, should anyone catch wind of this and start thinking I bewitched you with blood magic to charm you into my bed." Cullen ground his teeth in agitation at that. "Let's just keep this between us, shall we?"

He forced himself to bite back an angry retort and simply said, "If you'd prefer."

"I would, yes," Dorian told him, then pecked his cheek with a kiss. "...But thank you."

Dorian bit his lip, gazing into Cullen's eyes, wishing in that moment he could run outside and shout it to the world. But he knew precisely what would happen if he did so. He knew how unkind the world could be, and Cullen was not ready to face that sort of cruelty just yet. Not when this was so relatively new for him still. And Dorian was not willing to spoil what they now shared, whatever this was between them.

Oh, and should the Inquisitor learn of this? Maker help them then.

"I can at least walk you to my door," Cullen said.

"That you can," he agreed, and rather reluctantly they made their way to the ladder. "Quick question," he said, pausing, turning to look at Cullen. "How's my hair?"

"Soft," Cullen quipped with a smirk.

"Oh you're utterly useless then," he groused, causing the Commander to chuckle.

"It looks fine."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I find I rather like this look," Cullen defended, absently reaching up to preen a strand of hair in place. Indeed, sex looked good on Dorian, and Cullen devised to find all the ways in which he could leave Dorian breathless and sweating in the future. The mage eyed him incredulously, fussing over his hair, and Cullen shook his head in disbelief of it. "How one person could be so obsessed with their looks, I'll never know," he said.

"I don't hear any complaint about those looks. And don't think I don't know about your own obsession with looks, Commander," Dorian told him, to which he sighed.

"I don't hear you complaining either."

"And you won't," Dorian grinned, then disappeared through the hatch, sliding down the ladder. Cullen chuckled a little at that.

More kisses were traded, a bit of bickering over who would clean up the mess from dinner, Cullen finally winning the argument. More affection, neither willing to part with the other just yet, before Dorian managed to escape Cullen's office, sighing wistfully as he made his way back to his lonely room at the other end of the vast fortress, the agonizing walk back that seemed to go on forever, every minute merely seconds from turning back.

But he made it, and flopped down on his bed with a groan, fiddling with the ring on his finger as he replayed every minute of the affair, over and over, in his head. How endearing it was that Cullen didn't wish for him to leave thinking he was ashamed of him. Despite being an extremely private man, his willingness to disregard any and all opinion of their affair for Dorian's sake. Just...how Maker-forsaken fucking _perfect_ he was.

But eventually he drifted off to sleep, having the strangest of dreams. They involved Cullen, but rather than be a fantasy fueled by sex, they consisted of Cullen and Dorian sitting in the Gull And Lantern, eating and drinking, talking, laughing...with Halward Pavus.

And despite the incredible evening spent with Dorian, Cullen still had fitful sleep, as always, dreams of being trapped in that nightmare of his, the magical prison in Kinloch.

Stuck behind that barrier, screaming, calling for help that wouldn't come, because the Hero Of Ferelden left him there...left him to die...

He woke, clutching his chest, and briefly curled in on himself beneath sweat soaked sheets, but sighed in relief when he saw the hole in the roof, the stars above, and remembered he was at Skyhold. Not Kinloch. Remembered that somewhere beyond that room, there lie a mage that gave him the best night of his life, and he relaxed into the pillow, staring up at those stars, until he found sleep again.

The following morning he rose per usual and milled about his office, dressing, reading over reports, then headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Per usual, Dorian was late, as he was never quite so early a riser as Cullen.

But there he was, as Cullen was just finishing his meal, sweeping into the Great Hall with a flourish, bright and chipper, a spring in his step. "Morning, Commander," he greeted as he strode up to the table.

"Good morning," Cullen grinned, offering him a basket of bread as he sat down, which he accepted.

"Lovely day, is it not?" Dorian asked, and Cullen chuckled.

"As lovely as they get, I suppose," was his reply.

They shared a look.

Dorian was pristine, hair styled to perfection, mustache and goatee ever precise on his beautiful face, but Cullen couldn't get the image out of his head of the mage above him, so wonderfully disheveled, in throes of passion.

And neither could Dorian keep from picturing the Commander out of his armor, laying on his back, cursing the Maker's name in the heat of the moment.

Kaffas, how he wanted to leap across the table and tackle him to the floor, strip him down and fuck his brains out.

He wondered if anyone at that table could tell.

And Cullen wondered the same.

He wondered of that the whole rest of the morning, and well into the meeting in the War Room with Josephine and Leliana.

He felt so unbelievably inappropriate, with such dirty thoughts running through his head while they clucked.

Neither woman seemed to notice how distracted he was during the meeting, and carried on as they usually did, remarking on their latest findings, any news from abroad. Inquisitor Lavellan managed to infiltrate Sahrnia's Quarry in Emprise Du Lion, but there was no word on what she found within. Only that she cleared the area of Red Lyrium and rifts, so more troops were needed to secure the location.

As for any clue to Samson's whereabouts, they would simply have to wait and see.

But they'd also lost all contact with their Warden ally in the Approach, and needed to send in Harding and her team to locate him. They had yet to learn any substantial information regarding the Grey Wardens' activities, and with each day passing, they risked unleashing evil on the world. But only the Inquisitor was able to deal with the matter properly, as the Approach was wrought with Fade rifts still.

There were other minor issues the advisers could deal with, however. Then finally, there was the letter that had never been delivered to Cullen's office, as he'd frightened the messenger away. Josephine handed it to him, both women curious of its contents. It was not printed with fancy gold lettering, rather it was written in bold black ink, but Cullen recognized the handwriting, and Tevinter styled wax seal. That of House Pavus.

Heart pounding, he broke open the seal, and quietly glanced over the letter from Halward, a letter he must've written shortly before leaving Ferelden, for it to arrive so soon after his departure.

_Commander,_

_I am writing to you for two reasons. First, to thank you, for watching over my son. Secondly, to apologize for the circumstances of our introduction. I have heard many things of the Inquisition, and after meeting you, I am now convinced there is some truth to these rumors after all. I would like to ask a small favor of you, if you'll see fit to indulge an old man. Please, see that no harm comes to my son. I doubt he believes it, but I love him dearly._

_It pains my heart that this rift between us should continue, but I understand how he must feel, and truly regret the mistakes I have made. Perhaps one day we will reach an understanding, but until then, give him my regards._

_It was an honor to have met._

_Sincerely,_

_Magister Halward of House Pavus_

Cullen rubbed his temple, feeling a small headache coming on. He'd forgotten to take his morning dose of Dorian's mixtures. He'd have to remedy that shortly. He tossed the letter onto the oak table and watched it flop down with a flutter. Both Leliana and Josephine leaned it to inspect it, making Cullen sigh. "Well go on then," he gestured to the letter, giving them permission to read it. They snatched it up and poured over it, intrigued.

He'd neglected to ever give them details about their trip to Redcliffe. Only what he felt they needed to know, which was that they met with Dorian's father. The rest, however, was Dorian's business, and none of Cullen's. Both women knew better than to think he would lie if it were a matter the Inquisition need concern themselves with. But both were awfully curious about the whole affair.

"Interesting," Leliana commented after reading the letter.

"And most intriguing," Josephine agreed. "You left quite the impression on the man."

Cullen huffed at that. Absently thought back on something Dorian had said that night, of how his care for him left Halward thinking the two might be involved. Uncanny, considering what just happened between them the night before. He scratched his head in thought of it now. But the two ladies in his company didn't plan to linger long on the subject, as Leliana thought to clue them in on this morning's gossip.

"So, Cook's latest complaint: There was flour all over the kitchen this morning," she said, and Cullen looked up.

"Flour?" Josephine questioned, to which the Spymaster nodded.

"Yes, someone made a mess last night, and failed to clean it up."

"One of Sera's pranks, I'm guessing?" Cullen asked, pretending to be clueless.

"No," Leliana shook her head, grinning. "All Dorian's doing, actually." Cullen's collar suddenly felt very tight around his neck. "As a matter of fact, he was seen leaving the kitchens, carrying a tray across the battlements...to your office."

Josephine gasped. "You had dinner with Dorian?" she asked, excitedly. Cullen swallowed.

"Uh–yes. Yes, I did, actually," he answered, hand instinctively reaching to rub his neck, flustered by both women staring up at him so intently, smiling. "It was quite good."

"What did you have?" Leliana asked.

"Some sort of Tevinter dish," he shrugged. "It was quite delicious."

"And what did you have for dessert?" Josephine asked, and Cullen paled.

He cleared his throat. "I don't remember what it was called."

But it was hot. Steaming. Parts of it were ridiculously sweet. And all of it from start to finish was _incredible_.

"Ch-chocolate," he stammered. "It had chocolate. It was...rather tasty."

"So you had dinner with Dorian," Leliana mused. "What _else_ did the two of you get up to?"

Cullen gaped disbelievingly at the woman and all their questions. Such a nosey gossiping pair, they were. "You know, I don't ever recall that being any of your business," he groused angrily, and they giggled. "What, suddenly a man can't have dinner with a friend without everyone drawing some sort of _conclusion_ from it?"

"It was awfully late when Dorian returned to his quarters," Josephine speculated with a smirk. He huffed.

"If you must know, we played chess afterwards."

The Spymaster arched a brow. "Odd, considering you left your chessboard in the garden overnight."

He scowled. "It was an Avvar game," he grumbled, folding his arms. "I purchased it in Val Royeaux. I can't remember what it's called."

Both women eyed him condescendingly.

"That must've been a very _intense_ game you played," Leliana commented, sweetly.

"It was, yes," he clipped. "Now, if there are no more matters of import to discuss, I'll be on my way." He marched toward the door.

"So how was it?" he heard Leliana ask, making him pause with his hand on the door handle. He glanced back.

"How was what?"

"Dinner with Dorian," Josephine clarified for the woman.

He sighed. "It was _magnificent_ ," he said, then realized what he said, and curtly left the room, blushing.

After he parted and the door was shut behind him, Josephine gasped.

"Do you think that means what I think it means, Lely?"

"I do believe it does, Josie," her friend giggled. "Fingers crossed the Inquisitor doesn't find out about this."

"Fingers _and_ toes."

"Quite so," Leliana agreed with a nod. Next to her, Josephine sighed wistfully.

"The Commander and Dorian," she said. "Oh, I do hope it works out for them."

"Me too, Josie. Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crosses fingers, toes, someone else's fingers and toes, as well as the street*


	18. Good Morning, Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mischievous men, madly in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready to _lol_ and _smh_ your damned socks off, readers.

It was a rather blissfully somber morning at Skyhold.

With the Inquisitor absent, workers dutifully carried out their tasks, instructors trained recruits, builders patched up various places of the Keep, and all transpired as if nothing were amiss. Supply wagons pulled in and out of the gate regularly, mounts whinnied in the stables, and boots crunched on the frost bitten ground. The typical sounds of monotony at play. The mages practiced their spells. The smithies hammered metal.

The vendors sold their wares.

Late risers slept soundly in their beds.

And the Commander of the Inquisition's forces stood in his office, looking over assignments, thumbing through reports.

All seemed as it should.

Until a certain raven haired mage with olive skin burst into the room unexpectedly. Without bothering to knock, Dorian swung the door open and barged in, startling Cullen in the process. "Maker's breath!" he exclaimed, heart pounding. Caught completely off guard, but not angered by the intrusion. Not that morning. No, that morning, once he'd found the breath he'd lost at Dorian's sudden appearance in his office, he broke into a smile.

"Good morning, Commander," Dorian greeted as he strode over to the desk, a hint of something in his tone that was absent earlier at breakfast in the Great Hall, something shared in private. Something a bit more sensual.

"Morning, Mister Pavus," Cullen greeted in turn, then brows shot up to his forehead in surprise when Dorian grabbed him by the fur of his mantle and pulled him in for a kiss. A good one too. He ran his fingers through his hair, and even bit Cullen's lower lip. Oh, the Commander could get quite used to this. "Mnh, a _very_ good morning," he murmured, and watched Dorian sigh happily, then peck him on the cheek.

"Isn't it though?" he agreed, then stepped around Cullen, heading for the door to his left, that led out onto the battlements.

"And just where are you off to?" Cullen asked, confused by the behavior.

"The training yard," Dorian turned and back-stepped to answer. "Knight enchantment again today. Hate to kiss and run, but I'm a tad late, I'm afraid."

Cullen huffed disbelievingly at that. "Did you plan to walk all the way around the battlements instead of through the Keep just so you could stop by my office, and kiss me?"

Dorian grinned, biting his lip a little. "That I did, darling. That I did." Then he disappeared through the door, leaving Cullen to chuckle at his antics.

But he got his revenge.

On his way to the mid-morning meeting in the War Room, he headed across the bridge to the mages' tower. But instead of only passing through the foyer in which Solas painted his beautiful work of art every day, he turned and headed up the steps, taking them two at a time. He knew precisely where the mage would be, in the little nook at the top of the stairs, and after glancing around, seeing no one nearby, he stepped inside.

Catching Dorian by surprise when he twirled him around and caught him in a kiss, pressing him up against the book shelf, and out of his hand flew the book he'd been glancing at. He was careful enough not to ruffle his hair, but that didn't mean he wouldn't tousle other things. "Afternoon, Mister Pavus," he murmured in his ear, then nipped at his earlobe, hearing Dorian's breath catch in his throat.

"A much better one now, yes," he mumbled back, and Cullen smirked, then left him there–thoroughly flustered–in the tower, and headed back to work.

Oh but their game had only just begun.

They often took their lunch in the garden. It was quiet there, and empty of people at this hour. Most everyone was either in the Great Hall, the Herald's Rest, or otherwise occupied. They could eat and talk, as well as play chess, uninterrupted. An opportunity Dorian used to his advantage that day. First by tugging Cullen into a quick kiss behind a pillar. Then, at the table, during their game. He made his move, as Cullen was making his.

The Commander was too distracted by the game to notice him carefully slip off his boot and raise his foot, didn't suspect a thing until he felt Dorian touch the inside of his thigh, making him jump, upsetting the pieces on the board. He chuckled, and watched Cullen's face turn beet red before breaking into a smile. "Cheater," he accused, to which Dorian only shrugged and smiled in response. Then he moved his piece on the board, removing Cullen's.

"Checkmate, Commander," he informed. "I do believe that's game."

"Oh, but it's far from over, Mister Pavus," Cullen warned, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Indeed, the Commander had devised a counter attack come that evening at supper.

He seated himself next to Dorian in the Great Hall, at the table near the Undercroft. There, where they sat, there was no one behind them, nothing but a wall, therefore no one to see what Cullen would do when he 'clumsily dropped his fork on the floor'. And as he bent down to retrieve it, no one but Dorian noticed him run a gloved hand up the mage's thigh, from knee to groin, causing him to jerk and choke a little on the wine he sipped.

"Are you alright, Mister Pavus?" he asked, popping back up from under the table, fork in hand, as if he hadn't the faintest idea why Dorian was so flustered suddenly, and coughing, then covering his mouth.

"Whoa, hey, you okay, Sparkler?" Varric asked.

Dorian glanced down at his plate, stifling laughter to the best of his ability.

Across from him, Vivienne asked, "Are you feeling well?"

"Never better," he said brightly, though teary eyed, kicking Cullen's booted ankle beneath the table, causing the Commander to snort.

Rather cluelessly, Solas looked up from his meal, glanced back and forth between the both of them in confusion, but eventually shrugged it off and continued his meal.

"Hmm, you look a bit peaked, my dear," the Enchantress speculated.

"Oh do I?" Dorian chirped. "Must be the wine."

"Must be. You're blushing terribly."

Oh, he had no doubt of that. Thankfully, conversation started back up around them.

"I'll get you for this, Commander," Dorian murmured quietly, under the noise.

"I happily await your retribution, Mister Pavus," Cullen mumbled back, before sipping from his cup.

Dorian smirked a little at that.

Oh, vengeance was most certainly in order, he surmised.

After the final meeting between advisers was adjourned, and the three of them stepped out of the War Room, crossed the hall, and entered Josephine's office outside, an apprentice stood by one of the high-backed chairs, awaiting the Commander with a message. "From Master Pavus, sir," the young lady informed as she held up the folded note, feigning a smile and a polite bow in parting. Cullen unrolled the slip of parchment to read:

_Vengeance is a dish best served with West Hill, Commander. Care for a rematch tonight in my quarters?_

With a smirk, he crumpled the note and shoved it in his breast pocket before either woman could read over his shoulder. Yet still, he heard Leliana ask, "Dinner with the First Enchanter again, Commander?" with a slight upturn of the lip.

"Chess, actually," he corrected, not that it was any of their business. "I'm owed a rematch. Had to forfeit last game." But both women merely smiled.

"The best of luck then," Josephine told him.

"Thank you, Ambassador," he said. "And goodnight to you both." Then with a nod, he left her office, and both women behind to whisper with his back turned.

He stopped by his office beforehand, swiping the rectangular wooden box from the bookshelf, that which housed an Avvar game he was rather fond of–mostly because Dorian couldn't cheat at it–then he made his way across the battlements, nodding to soldiers carrying torches as he passed, hearing things such as, "Good evening, Commander," and "Have a good night, sir," wishing each a good night in turn.

All the way across the outer perimeter he strolled, through the accesses, around the tavern and the armory, until he reached the guests' quarters beyond. The first door on the right belonged to the Altus he was meeting, and with gusto he knocked, thrice, sharply, and waited. Before he'd so much as taken a breath, the door swung open and a shirtless mage poked his head out, then glanced about the corridor.

He then grabbed Cullen by the fur of his coat and dragged him inside, kicking the door closed and pressing the Commander against it. Faces locked in a heated kiss, during which Cullen dropped the box he carried, that flew open, the pieces scattering about the floor. A hand reached behind him to lock the door, then arms looped around Dorian's waist, pulling him closer, briefly gliding down to squeeze that perfect arse of his.

"You've been very bad today, Commander," Dorian murmured, and Cullen chuckled.

"That I have, Mister Pavus, and I do believe punishment is in order," he said, allowing Dorian to unbuckle his breastplate. The mage put on a sly grin.

"Indeed it is. My vengeance will not be swift," he warned.

"Oh do please take your time," Cullen begged.

Another kiss, Dorian fighting with the metal across Cullen's form for a moment before, "Kaffas! Why is your armor so complicated?!"

"My armor is complicated?" Cullen questioned. "You're the one always covered in all those buckles and straps. Do they even serve a purpose?"

"Of course they do."

"And that would be?"

"They make me look rather fetching."

Cullen chuckled, then gently moved Dorian's hands out of the way to remove his armor, knowing precisely which straps to tug at in order to remove it quickly and efficiently. Within seconds he had the breastplate off, set it beside him on the floor, and started on the pauldrons. "Clever," Dorian commented, watching with keen fascination as Cullen undressed. "I shall have to remember that trick."

The gauntlets and greaves were next, set aside with the rest. Once the metal was removed, he pulled Dorian back to him, quickly yanking off his gloves to feel bare skin, just as Dorian was fiddling with his tunic, pulling it open. He ran his hands down his bare chest, moving from lips to neck and collar bone as he touched. He shuddered at Cullen's touch, however. "Your hands are cold," he stated, between kisses.

"Sorry."

Dorian leaned back. "It's one of your symptoms. Did you remember to take your potions?"

Cullen thought about that. "No, I...must've forgot." Dorian opened his mouth to speak, but Cullen quickly cut him off, saying, "I felt fine," in assurance. "I didn't really need them, truthfully. Had a minor headache, but it wasn't too taxing."

"Huh," Dorian huffed at the curiousness of it. "You felt fine, did you?" he questioned, hardly believing of it.

But Cullen nodded. "Wonderful, actually," he admitted with a grin.

"Well, good," Dorian nodded. "But still, your hands are freezing, darling. We shall have to warm you up."

Cullen didn't think he could _get_ any hotter. Dorian's quarters were stifling, and he was so deliriously turned on.

"And how will you manage that?"

"Do you mind a little magic?"

Cullen thought about that.

"I...don't suppose," he shrugged, at the moment more curious than anything of what Dorian could accomplish, rather than intimidated by it. Mages were capable of far more than just destructive power, after all. A fact he was slowly coming to terms with, day by day. Dorian held out his hands, and Cullen placed his own in them. Then in the most alluring manner, slowly lacing their fingers, Dorian summoned arcane energy to warm them.

There was a flash of golden light–Cullen flinched, but only a little, mostly in surprise–then a warm tingling sensation enveloped him. Cullen's eyes fluttered shut at the pleasurable feel of it. "There, that's better," Dorian cooed softly, then moved to wrap Cullen's arms around his waist once more, leaning in and gently nipping at his lower lip. "Shall I exact my revenge on you now, Commander?" he asked.

"Mmm, yes, please do," Cullen answered.

Dorian needed no more permission than that, and pulled Cullen by the fabric of his shirt to the bed behind them. They flounced onto it, Cullen leaning back on his calves to shrug out of his coat but Dorian reached to stop him.

"Leave that on," he requested, and Cullen arched a brow at that statement. "What? I rather like it."

"It's hot," Cullen complained.

"Precisely," Dorian quipped, deviously, running his hands along the warrior's chest, admiring the various scars he possessed, then preening the fur of his mantle. Indeed, the Commander bare chested with that fur thrown over his shoulders was as pleasing to look at as Dorian imagined it would be. Cullen huffed in amusement.

"You're impossible," he groused, good-naturedly, with a smirk.

Nevertheless, he obliged the Altus, and left his coat on.

No doubt he would make it worth his while.

Every moment spent with the man seemed worth the effort.

"You _like_ how impossible I am," Dorian told him, as he pulled him down to rest on top of him.

"Well, I don't hate it," Cullen agreed.

In fact, he loved it. He ardently kissed, feeling Dorian shift restlessly beneath him, eager to be touched. Though perhaps eager was a bit of an understatement. He leaned back once more to wrestle the mage out of his breeches, both fighting to get them off before Cullen tossed them aside and stared down in wonder at Dorian naked on the bed. Running his hands up his thighs, admiring the epitome of male perfection before him.

Indeed, Dorian was perfect. There was not a flaw to be found. He almost didn't feel worthy of such a creature splayed out before him. Battered and broken as he was. Scarred. Damaged. Yet still, Dorian hummed pleasurably as he touched, then groaned when Cullen stroked his hardened cock, mercilessly teasing. Something mumbled in Tevene, spoken pleadingly, then something Cullen was certain was a curse.

Curious if he might enjoy giving as much as receiving such pleasure, Cullen made a split decision to bend down and taste him with his tongue. He'd been working up to this, and finally felt comfortable enough to do so. Overly curious of the act, and throwing the remainder of caution to the wind. Dorian's reaction was more moaning and cursing, as he tentatively licked his shaft before closing his lips over the tip.

The mage found it positively _divine_. He was soft and slow, and it took every ounce of will to not thrust into his mouth, to have patience for him. But as he slowly took more and more of Dorian into his mouth he felt that control start to slip. He was hesitant, as this was new for him, but still quite eager to please, and the Tevinter Altus was slowly finding himself wholly and completely at the Commander's mercy for it.

And ironically enough, Cullen found he rather enjoyed this. Not only did it stroke his ego that Dorian should find his attentions so pleasurable, but it produced the same feeling he got when Dorian kissed. The _way_ he kissed, making Cullen immeasurably hard, almost instantaneously, by probing the back of his mouth with his tongue. Only now it was Dorian's cock, ever erect, on his tongue, that excited him.

Oh the Commander could get quite used to this, yes.

Incorporating a mix of his hand and mouth in a feasible rhythm he slowly worked to elevate the mage to his peak, hearing him curse, feeling his hand grip his hair tightly, somewhat guiding him, and above him Dorian gazed down in wonder at the beautiful sight of the Inquisition's astute Commander so diligently sucking him off. The sight of that wicked mouth of his, wrapped around him, pulling from him every ounce of pleasure he could muster.

He wondered how a demon could ever tempt him now, when they would so catastrophically pale in comparison to the real thing.

There was no replicating this level of perfection, and before Dorian knew it, he'd fallen off that edge, though failing to warn Cullen beforehand.

He sputtered, as hot liquid shot to the back of his throat unexpectedly. There were only two ways he could respond to this, spit it out, or swallow, and since it was already there, well, he partly swallowed. It tasted sort of sweet, a big tangy, like mead. He sat up abruptly, wiping his chin, face hot and red, brows raised in surprise. "Well," he coughed. "I'd say you've been avenged, Mister Pavus," he quipped.

The mage in question, still rather delirious, and riding the high of his orgasm, breathed heavily, but slowly came to the realization that he'd nearly choked Cullen. "I am _so_ sorry, _amatus_ , I didn't mean to," he gasped, covering his mouth. "It was...it was just so good," he praised. He tried so hard not to laugh at Cullen's face, but it was difficult, and eventually he broke into a fit of giggling behind his hand. "Do forgive me, darling," he begged.

Cullen chuckled, shaking his head at himself, and at the mage who's normally perfectly composed air had been replaced with cacophonous laughter. He shook, trying and failing to stop laughing, face as red as Cullen's coat. The Commander couldn't even bring himself to be mad at Dorian, seeing him cackle like this. Not in a snarky, condescending manner, but much rather like a teenager, one that took everything a person said _entirely_ the wrong way.

It was so cute the man thought he might die. "I must say that was a little unexpected," he commented, and Dorian snorted.

He hopelessly clutched his side as he tried so desperately to calm himself, in tears at this point, and Cullen simply stared down at him, shaking his head, in his own fit of snickering in disbelief. But finally, he started to taper, and grinned up at Cullen. "Come, let me make it up to you," he offered, reaching for him, pulling him down to rest on top of him. He kissed his cheek, his jaw, and his neck, then reached down to finish him with his hand.

Fairly soon their humor turned back into moans and sighs, Cullen still very wont to find release, and it didn't take him long to do so. Arduously thrusting into Dorian's hand until he spilled out on his thigh. Then he relaxed, took a moment to remember how to breathe, for he struggled to do so. Enjoyed the closeness, the intimacy of the two of them pressed together like this, feeling Dorian's hand lightly stroking his back.

Both sighed, and peeled apart, Dorian pointing to the washbasin nearby when Cullen searched for something to clean them up with. Dorian profficiently warmed the towel with his magic, Cullen absently wondering just how often Dorian actually used his magic on a day to day basis. What it would be like to live with a mage that utilized it for such ordinary things, like heating water. Then started to wonder...

What life would be like, living with Dorian.

Once immaculately clean, Dorian tugged Cullen back to him, allowing him to shrug out of his coat first, as it was blistering hot. Content to pull him close, not willing to part with the Commander just yet, if ever. All day long he'd only had one thing on his mind, and that was curling up in bed with him next to the fire. He was breaking every rule in his book by not kicking Cullen out the door as soon as he'd been satisfied. But he didn't care.

Cullen was the exception to that rule, he'd learned.

He was the man Dorian had broken _every_ rule for.

If only he knew that.

If only Dorian could make him understand.

After a time, Cullen breathed a sigh, "I should head back to my office," he said. "Let you get some rest."

"No, stay a little longer," Dorian begged. Then he glanced about, searching for an excuse to keep him there. "Oh look, you brought that tribal chess," he chirped, seeing the pieces scattered about. "Let's play a round or two, yes?"

Cullen snorted. "If we can find all the pieces," he shrugged.

But he happily searched the room for those pieces with Dorian, now having an excuse to stay. They found most of them, and the embroidered kerchief that was the playing board. Dorian brought out the West Hill brandy he'd stolen from Ellana's collection and stashed in his quarters, poured them each a cup, then sprawled out on the bed with Cullen to arranged the pieces on the board. "Your move, Commander," he quipped, and they started their game.

"I received a letter from your father," Cullen said after making his move, striking up conversation.

Dorian huffed at that. "How typical," he scathed. "Did he threaten you?"

"Don't be alarmed," Cullen chuckled. "He did nothing of the sort. Actually he...well, he thanked me for looking after you, and asked that I keep you safe."

"Hmph, unbelievable," he said into his cup before taking a drink.

"Well, it isn't anything I wouldn't already wish to do," Cullen remarked with a shrug, drinking from his own cup. Dorian's eyes flicked to his.

He made his move, attempting to corner one of Cullen's pieces, but he'd predicted the move, and quickly counteracted, stealing one of Dorian's pawns. He smirked a little. "Don't you _even_ get smug," Dorian told him. That only made him more so. "So my father wrote a letter to you, did he?" Cullen nodded. Dorian sighed. Maybe...just _maybe_...Halward was truly sorry then. _Good_ , Dorian thought. _He should be sorry._

But how this pained him. Because he wanted to believe it. Wanted so desperately to believe that Halward truly regretted what he did, that he truly loved him still, and only wanted him to be safe. That he meant every word. But even so, even if he meant it, that wouldn't change what happened. It wouldn't take back what he did. There was no changing the past. Only living with it now, and Dorian was struggling to do that.

He struggled every day with such a task.

"I loved him," he spoke aloud, out of nowhere, and Cullen eyed him curiously. "I loved him more than life. I wanted nothing more than to make him proud of me. And when I came into my magic he was...so happy. That I would one day follow in his footsteps. There was such excitement, such love in his eyes. And I drank it in like a flower soaking up the sun...But then he learned that I was different. And suddenly that light was gone."

Cullen sighed, forlorn, and at a loss for words for a moment. He'd often wondered what he would say, should Dorian broach the subject of his father's heinous acts, and he could never be certain of his words. Until now. "Not forgiving your father doesn't mean you don't love him, Dorian," he said. "Those two ideas are not one and the same. And just because you love him, just because he's your father, doesn't necessarily mean you should."

"Do you think I should?" Dorian asked. "That I should just simply forget, and move on?"

"I think it's not my decision to make for you. Whether or not you do is entirely your choice."

"Would you?"

Cullen took longer to answer that. But eventually he sighed and said, "Some things are...unforgivable, Dorian." Though the mage couldn't be sure if he were only telling him that, or maybe telling himself as well. "And I think that in the end, the Maker will be the one to judge us all." He watched Cullen take a drink from his cup, not meeting Dorian's gaze and instead staring at the board between them.

"And is that why you struggle to write to Mia?" Dorian couldn't help but ask. "But what is it that you've done that's so unforgivable, I wonder?"

"I've done many unforgivable things, Dorian," he admitted quietly. "And I'm sure you know what they are."

"Well, as long as one of those things isn't _me_ ," he shrugged, then took a drink, trying to lighten the mood so errantly sullen. Cullen actually snorted a little.

"On the contrary, I think that may have been something I did right, actually," he remarked, and Dorian smiled. Then he grabbed his cup from his hand, and set their drinks on the stand nearby. "What are you doing?"

"No more of this talk for us tonight," he said, then shoved the Avvar chess set out of his way, moving to straddle the warrior, kissing him fiercely.

No more talk whatsoever. Instead, Dorian proceeded to wring every last ounce of pleasure out of the Commander that he possibly could, a second round. He left Cullen so sated that night he could barely think straight making his way back to his office. Dawn was nearly breaking when he finally–reluctantly–dressed and left Dorian's room, quietly made his way through the abandoned keep, then to his office, for a much needed nap.

He didn't sleep long enough to dream, really, merely dozed off at his desk. Woke to the sound of Rylen bursting into the room, armor clanking, and that thick Starkhaven brogue saying, "Mornin' lad, burnin' both ends of the candle again, I see."

He rubbed his eyes and mumbled, "I'm up." Then dragged himself out of his chair to head down to the barracks, wake up the new recruits, and start their drills. Yes, he was dragging his feet that morning, without the ability to sleep in as late as Dorian probably was at that very moment. True to the tradition from Cullen's own training days, he and his second clanked metal pots and pans to jolt the recruits awake, barking at them to get moving.

Out into the yard they went, and into their morning routine.

To the Great Hall the Commander went for breakfast.

A certain mage was absent, however. Likely stayed up after Cullen left, finishing off that bottle of brandy.

He wondered how long it would be until Dorian finally rose.

Until he saw him again.

Maker, did he want to so _badly_.

All morning his door flew open with soldiers passing through the tower, startling him. Agents running messages to his tower from Leliana's office, bringing reports, updates on the Inquisitor's progess. She'd left Sahrnia, but headed immediately to the Exalted Plains, as there were a group of Dalish there that desperately needed her aid, and she'd set aside all other matters. Pages flitted in and out, then more soldiers.

It seemed to go on and on, endlessly. Until...

 _Finally_...

The door burst open one last time, startling him, and he heard, "Good morning, _amatus_ ," in that velvety accent.

Cullen broke into a smile, stepping around the desk.

"Morning," he sighed happily, rushing to Dorian, sweeping him into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know these guys are very complex characters, have their serious, and sometimes very dark moments (obviously) and I know that Dorian is often depicted as rather domineering in fictions, I couldn't help but picture these two being rather playful behind closed doors. Like teenagers. Especially since this is sort of the honeymoon stage of their relationship. Hope you all approve of this depiction.
> 
> -SB


	19. A Little Longer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Dorian get _closer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry update was late again. Holiday decorating took precedence. And my chapters are caught up now so I'm posting as I'm writing.
> 
> Here, have some smut, featuring Top!Cullen.
> 
> Also sorry to anyone who takes offence to the way I word things in this fic. I do not mean to imply that oral sex is not actual sex. Things such as handjobs, blowjobs, fingering and frottage can all be just as intimate and fulfilling as penetration. I only wished to differentiate Cullen and Dorian's various stages of intimacy throughout their relationship.
> 
> Anywho, enjoy.

It had been a wretchedly long day, and Maker was Cullen ready for it to be over. Work had seemed to go on forever, stacks of reports on his desk up to his eyeballs, and far too many people with problems demanding his attention. Sometimes all at once. But the end of it had finally come, to his relief. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, cracking his neck as it was rather stiff, massaging the little kinks with a gloved hand.

Then he closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing his shoulders.

The days at Skyhold during which Ellana fought in the Exalted Plains had been some of the best days of Cullen's life. Mornings of Dorian walking across the battlements to stop by for a kiss. Each time lingering a little longer. Stolen moments between meetings, then late nights in his quarters. All leaving him more sated than the last. Talking, playing chess, or sometimes just holding one another, and each night Cullen would arrive back a little later.

One morning he'd arrived at dawn as it was breaking, finding Rylen already in his office, snooping around his desk. "And just where did you run off to last night, eh?" he'd asked him. "The men on the wall tell me you've been haunting the battlements in the wee hours of the morn. Stayin' out all night long." He'd grinned haughtily too, suspecting the Commander was up to no good. "Where've you been hidin' every night, lad?"

Cullen chuckled, shaking his head at the man. "Just had a late night with a friend," he'd answered, to which Rylen arched a brow.

"Did you now? And just how much of a looker is this friend?" he asked.

Cullen smirked. "Beautiful," he said, and Rylen's brows shot up to his forehead, impressed.

"Hmm, bet she is," he said. "If she's keepin' the Inquisition's Commander so busy, aye that lass is beautiful, I reckon." Rylen huffed, slightly jealous of him. "Well, you look like you haven't slept none in weeks. The wee lass must've wrung you out right an' proper, eh? Why don't you get some shut eye, lad. I'll get the men up an' put them through their paces." He left Cullen's office then, smirking.

Cullen merely rolled his eyes and shook his head at his second in command when he left.

He snorted in thought of it now as he sat at his desk. The last meeting of the day would commence shortly, then he'd be free to sneak off to Dorian's quarters afterwards. And he was chomping at the bit. All day long he had to sign off on reports, command soldiers, patiently listen to bickering, diffuse arguments, amend grievances, and be Commander of the Inquisition. Don the mantle, raise the shield.

Listen to comments about the 'beautiful lass' he'd taken to bed.

But the moment he entered Dorian's room, and locked that door, he could shed all that. He could be...him. Cullen. Just Cullen. Or Darling. Or even Amatus. A Tevinter pet name of some sort, though he could never remember to ask what it meant. All day long he had to share himself with the rest of the world, but after meeting with Josephine and Leliana that night, and going over the day's progress, he could selfishly hoard himself away.

And belong only to Dorian Pavus. No one else.

After sunset he made the journey to Dorian's room at the other end of the battlements. Then he knocked, thrice, and was greeted with two hazel eyes and a smile. Dorian let him in, closed and locked the door behind him, but when he leaned in for a kiss, Dorian held a up hand. "Ah-ah," he chided, waggling his finger, then holding up a vial. "This first," he instructed, and Cullen groaned, hanging his head.

"I knew I was forgetting something," he mumbled as he accepted Dorian's elixir and dutifully popped the cork to drink, then set the empty bottle on the stand nearby.

"As did I," Dorian told him, raising a sharp brow.

Once having taken his nightly dose, and properly cared for himself, only then did Dorian allow him to pull him in for a kiss. It was soft, and slow, like their first, only no one there to annoy them now. And Cullen's breath caught in his throat when Dorian licked his lip, then delved deeper. Drove him absolutely wild. Every time. He'd learned the trick to Cullen's armor and started helping him to remove it, asking, "How was work today?"

"Exhausting," Cullen bemoaned with a sigh.

"You do look tired, darling. Do you want to talk about it?"

"We don't have to."

"Afterward, then?" Dorian smirked, and Cullen nodded.

"After," he agreed, and assisted Dorian with undressing, leaning in to steal a kiss from that beautiful mouth of his in between. At the moment, what he needed more than talking was the feel of Dorian's soft, smooth skin against his own. The sight of him sweaty and breathless, hair all mussed up on his head, trembling, delirious from pleasure. The sound of his native language. Amazingly, Cullen was already getting hard, just picturing it.

It hadn't taken Cullen long to figure out the mess of buckles and straps of Dorian's own attire, less time then it took the Altus to dress, unbelievably. But as Cullen was a strategist by profession, and picking things apart, learning their choke points, their weaknesses of integrity, was rather part of the job, he had it off the mage in record time. Dorian had always been impressed by that, by how easily Cullen could unmake something.

It was why he was such a formidible opponent, why he was so good at chess, so quick to tear down his enemy's defenses. Why Cassandra was so against replacing him. Because his mind could see things in such a way that few others could. Had he possessed magic, Dorian could imagine just how powerful a mage he would've been. It was why he was grateful they were friends, and not enemies.

Lovers, as it were, so rather than picking him apart on the field of battle, instead Cullen unmade him with his eyes, and unraveled him with his touch.

They slowly gravitated toward the bed as they undressed, kissed and touched, happily falling into one another, Cullen now right where he belonged, in Dorian's frame of mind. Above him, pressed against him, allowing the mage to tuck them under the covers, sighing exquisitely when Dorian found that spot on his neck that was particularly sensative. Hummed in the most delightful manner when he brushed his spine with his finger tips.

"Dorian?" Cullen spoke, and he paused in his attentions to gaze up at him.

"Yes, Amatus?"

"Uhm," he struggled for words for a moment. "There's...there's probably no way of asking this that doesn't sound completely juvenile, but..." But he'd thought about it a lot. Especially lately. Dorian had never hinted that he required such things, but Cullen had wondered about it, wondering if perhaps Dorian desired more than what they already shared. What they did was wonderful, and doubly satisfying, but was it enough for him?

"What's on your mind, darling?" Dorian questioned.

"I was wondering if you would ever want to..." He sighed. "Have sex?" he chirped nervously.

Dorian supressed a grin. He would not dare laugh at the man, and make him think he was doing so at his expense, but it was just so adoring how he looked just then with his face pinched, eyes squinting and whatnot. Yes, they'd never gotten around to discussing intercourse, had they? Never so much as broached the subject, to Dorian's dismay. He would not pressure the man, but neither had Cullen hinted at wanting such a thing.

Not that Dorian was complaining, by any means. Never had he met a man so passionate as a lover before Cullen. And both were always left quite sated by the end of the night, having pleasured one another with their hands or their mouths, variations of each, learning their bodies, the precise ways in which to touch to bring one another to ecstacy. But that level of intimacy between them had never come up in conversation.

"I do want to, yes," Dorian answered honestly.

"Ah, alright then. I just...I didn't know if that would be something you wanted, or...h-how you would want to..." He trailed off, a little embarrassed, face turning the most brilliant pink Dorian had yet to see. "I...didn't know what you wanted," he managed to say in regards to it, and Dorian slowly nodded in understanding. He reached to caress Cullen's jaw, softly, watching his eyes flutter shut at the touch.

"I want you inside me," he said. "Is that something you would wish?"

Both men felt his cock twitch in interest at the mere notion of it. "I do believe it is, yes," Cullen told him, heart pounding madly in his chest in his excitement, and apprehension, at the thought of such a thing. "You'll...have to show me...how...how you want-"

"I will, Amatus, I will," Dorian assured, pulling Cullen into another kiss.

Indeed, he would show Cullen precisely what he desired. And exactly what he'd been missing out on until now. He feverishly kissed, blood rushing madly through his veins in anticipation of what was to come. But then eventually nudged them apart so that he could reach out and fumble for the bottle of oil in the top drawer of his nightstand. After a moment, he found what he was looking for and held it up for Cullen to see.

He encouraged him to sit back on his calves and popped the cork, the space between them filling with its illustrious scent. Then he poured some in his hand, all the while Cullen watching with innate curiosity and peaked interest, biting his lip, as Dorian reached down to prepare himself, slowly open himself up with his fingers for Cullen. His cock twitched as he observed the act, mesmerized by the sight.

The fact that this seemed rather pleasing to Cullen further sparked his already burning desire for the man. He liberally applied more oil to stroke Cullen, watching him sigh blissfully at the attention, before pulling him closer and carefully inserting. He made sure to do so slowly, with a hand placed on Cullen's hip to discourage him from bucking, to allow his lover the pleasure of not only feeling, but watching. And that he did.

A bead of sweat had broken across his brow at some point, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head at how magnificent the feel of entering Dorian. "Maker's breath," he cursed. No, he'd never felt anything like this. And once completely inside? Maker! It was phenomenal! At Dorian's urging he started to move inside him, gradually picking up pace, soon hearing the most broken, shaken and lust filled cries of Tevene to ever spill from the mage's mouth.

He reached up to pull Cullen to him, locking them in a passionate kiss, as he wrapped his legs around his frame and clung tightly as the Commander bucked wildly, as deeply as Dorian would allow.

"Kaffas, yes!" he cried. "Harder, Amatus! Faster!"

"I can't!" Cullen gasped. "I can't, Dorian, if I go any faster, I'm going to come! Sweet Maker, Dorian, you feel so good!"

Fuck! There could be nothing more attractive to Dorian, that he'd driven Cullen so inherently mad with desire!

"Fasta vas, yes! Come for me, Cullen!" he encouraged, and Cullen sped up, the headboard of Dorian's bed now banging loudly and repeatedly against the stone wall. Trembling from head to toe on the verge of release. Which did not take long at all.

His movement became erratic, and soon enough, Dorian felt his climax, deep inside him, and gazed wonder at the beautiful creature above him in that moment of sheer bliss. Sex looked good on Cullen, and Dorian wished to have a portrait of that face, hung on his wall. _How red would the apostate's ears turn if I ever asked him to paint that?_ he thought, as he watched Cullen come undone, then sag against him.

Dorian had yet to find release, and after a moment of collecting himself, finding wherever he put his senses, and learning out to breathe again, Cullen carefully slipped out, then slid down on the bed to pleasure Dorian with his mouth instead. He slowly inserted two fingers until he heard, "Yes, there! Oh right there, Amatus!" Then kept his fingers just like that as he wrapped his mouth around the head of his cock and sunk down.

This was interesting to Cullen. He could feel more of the sensation with his fingers deep inside him, and not only his mouth, nor his hand curled around his shaft. And it took far less time to elevate him to his peak. Within minutes he came, and then...he was _just_ as Cullen had envisioned. A blathering heap, gasping for air, head jerking upward with each spasm, spilling into Cullen's mouth.

He suckled at him, drinking him dry. He'd found he rather liked how he tasted, swallowed it down. Then he leaned back on his calves to admire his handiwork. Dorian was a beautiful mess, bleary eyed, blindly reaching for him, wanting to hold him. Overly affectionate, post orgasm. He obliged and came to rest on top of him once more, adjusting so that they were both comfortable with all of his weight on him, and pulled him close.

He didn't worry quite so much about smothering him as they were similar in build and Dorian could support the weight. He curled into him, resting his head on the pillow, in the crook of his neck. Dorian then traced his back and shoulder with the pads of his fingers, and Cullen was loathe to ever be moved from this spot. To be ripped from this moment. But they had a bit of a mess they'd yet to clean up still, and if Cullen didn't move now, he'd fall asleep.

So after a minute or so he reluctantly peeled himself off of Dorian. He shuffled his feet to the wash basin and made quick work of cleaning, then assisted Dorian, who tugged on his arm not long after like a clingy toddler, dragging him back into bed with him. "Did you enjoy it, darling?" he asked, as Cullen settled back into his previous position, allowing Dorian to nuzzle into him like a cat.

"Eveidently," he huffed, and Dorian chuckled.

"I'm glad," he purred. He rubbed his back for a time, but slowly his hand ventured lower, making Cullen hum in response as he then rubbed his backside in the same manner. "Should you ever wish for me to pleasure you the same, Amatus?" he inquired, and Cullen thought about that.

"Uh...I'm not sure," he answered, a tad squeamish at the thought. "Would you ever want to?"

"Hmm, I might," he said.

"Well, if you wanted-"

"Ah," he interrupted. "No, darling. Only if it's something _you_ wish."

Cullen relaxed a little. "Alright."

"You were going to tell me about work, yes?" he asked as he twirled fingers in Cullen's hair, likely ruining all the effort put into getting it to lay relatively straight, but Cullen didn't mind.

"Hmph, you truly want to hear of it?" Cullen asked in turn, and Dorian smirked.

"It gives me the perfect excuse to tell you all about _my_ day afterwards," he said, and Cullen sighed, rolling his eyes.

It _was_ an excuse. But not for Dorian to prattle. Rather, to keep Cullen there a bit longer, an excuse the Commander was happy to make. He chuckled a little.

"Or...we could just talk about you," he offered. "If that's what you really want?"

"I was only teasing, Amatus. Tell me, how was your day?"

Cullen sighed. Then told Dorian about his day. Mentioned that Ellana had made contact with the Dalish clan in the Plains, and would be staying a few extra days, to ensure their safety–Dorian huffed at that bit of information, but kept his opinion to himself–He then drolled the mage with a few details of training the recruits. A young man that dropped his shield, then tripped over it, and landed in a water trough, causing Dorian to snicker.

Anything he could think of that Dorian might find mildly entertaining, then he asked about Dagna's research. She'd made some incredible strides with Red Lyrium, finding more efficient ways of disposing of it, at least. But she and Dorian had yet to find a way to counteract the effects of regular Lyrium still. Only more dead ends, sadly. Then Cullen laughed at the tale of a mage, that dropped his staff, then tripped over it, landing in a puddle.

But after a time, conversation came to a still, and they simply held one another, neither willing to part.

But Cullen had to get back to his office.

"I should get going," he said, and Dorian pouted. "People are starting to notice my absences. And my nightly habits. Before he left, Rylen caught me walking back to my office." He snorted. "Thankfully, he's under the impression I've taken up with a 'beautiful lass', and I'm spending my nights with _her_."

Dorian arched a brow. "And where would he get such an idea?"

"Because I told him I was with someone _beautiful_ , and he drew his own conclusions of it."

Dorian grinned. "Do you think I'm beautiful then?"

Cullen poured his gaze over the Altus for a moment before saying, "Very."

He was perfect, really. Wonderfully gifted, wildly intelligent, and always managing to amuse Cullen in some way. Witty and sarcastic, as well as juvenile on occasion. Extremely stubborn too. Cullen had surmised long before now just how perfect Dorian was. Even before their affair, back in the beginning days of their friendship, Cullen remembered thinking that had Dorian been a woman, they might've been destined for one another.

How disappointed he'd been.

Until he'd overcome his own narrow mind and doubts.

Then, bizarrely enough, it turned out Dorian was indeed perfect after all, just as he was.

But sometimes Cullen couldn't tell if Dorian felt the same.

He was terrified of telling Dorian the truth, just how deeply he truly cared for him, and not only ruining what they shared, but ruining their friendship as well.

_The third rule; it's the most important: no matter what happens between us, we mustn't allow it to affect our friendship._

No matter what, Cullen would rather not lose Dorian as a friend.

"I shall let you get your _beauty_ sleep, Mister Pavus," he said and the mage snorted, amused.

He started to get up, but Dorian was quick to pull him back down. "Stay a little longer," he pleaded softly. "Just until I fall asleep?"

"Alright," Cullen agreed.

But soon drifted off to sleep as well, to the feel of Dorian's hands tracing little circles in his skin, the rise and fall of his breathing, and the crackling of the fire nearby.

He hadn't meant to, but he fell right into a deep sleep wrapped up in Dorian. At some point in the night he'd rolled over onto his back, and woke from a nightmare in that position. He choked and gasped for air, sweating profusely, having no idea where he was at first, but seeing a window, so he scrambled out of bed to rush to it. Hands trembling, he fumbled to wrench the window open, breathing a sigh when he felt the cold night air.

He stayed there for a minute or two, catching his breath, grounding himself in reality. He was still rather disoriented, but remembered that he was in Dorian's room, and glanced behind him to see the mage fast asleep in bed, undisturbed, it appeared. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep for a moment. He looked so young when he was asleep. Rather than Cullen's age, he looked no more than twenty.

So innocent.

Kind and caring.

Not anything like the terrors in his dream.

Cullen was so undeserving of him.

He sighed and rose to his feet, shuffling around in he dark to dress, searching for the bits and pieces of his armor, strapping them in place. He threw his cloak over his shoulders and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, turning to glance back at Dorian one last time before quietly leaving the room. He was relieved he hadn't woken the mage, wouldn't have to answer any questions regarding his behavior.

But hated having to leave him so.

Cullen eased the door shut with a muffled click, and made the walk back to his office.

But after he left, Dorian opened his eyes and sat up in bed.

He'd been awake.

And he heard _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No lie, I had _Don't Stop Me Now_ stuck in my head the whole time I wrote this.
> 
> Fun fact: I actually draw inspiration for Cullen from _Bohemian Rhapsody_. Song itself doesn't fit the context, but some of the lyrics kind of made me think of his emotions throughout this work.


	20. The Lover, The Healer, And The Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian confronts Cullen about his nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some angst with a _happy ending_ *wink* *nudge*

He'd been roused from sleep by the sound and feel of Cullen shifting restlessly in the bed beside him. His heart pounded madly when he heard it. The way Cullen jerked and twitched in his sleep, murmuring fearfully, calling out to someone, then woke suddenly, choking and gasping for air like he'd been drowned. He hadn't known how to appropriately respond, but thought better than to disturb him and inadvertantly escalate the situation.

He'd woken a man from a nightmare once, and regretted it. He'd been punched the face by accident, the man thinking he was trying to attack him, lashing out in his confusion. He'd learned his lesson from that, and quietly, patiently listened to Cullen scramble out of bed then jiggle the handle of the latch on his window, wrenching it open with fervor, breathing deeply, sighing in relief. He listened to that breathing for a minute.

Then he felt the bed shift, Cullen's weight resting on it, heavy, exerted breathing slowly calming. Then heard another sigh. He thought at first perhaps he might come back to bed. He was just about to roll over and ask Cullen if he was alright, if he needed to talk about it, when he heard the unmistakable sounds of Cullen dressing. Of Cullen leaving. His heart sped up. Should he stop him? Ask him to stay? Inquire of his dreams?

Or give the man his space?

In the end he settled on space, knowing Cullen needed to return to his quarters eventually, before others were awake to see him exiting Dorian's room in the early hours. But he flopped down on the bed after the door clicked shut and sighed. Cullen had never listed fitful sleep as a symptom of his withdrawal, and Dorian wasn't entirely sure if it was. He knew the Commander had a jaded history, knew the man had regrets.

But he never knew Cullen had been tortured.

That's what it sounded like. He had all of the signs of someone reliving a traumatic memory, and a few things about Cullen suddenly made sense. The way he was so reluctant to talk about his past, give any substantial amount of detail, the way he was rather closed off with certain subjects, and certain things made him exceedingly uncomfortable. Dorian worried his lip over the whole thing, unable to go back to sleep that night.

They needed to talk about this. He didn't want to push Cullen, but maybe he had to. If he would run away each and every time he had a night terror, if he would close himself off, shut Dorian out, they wouldn't last very long in their relationship...provided Dorian could call it that. Some days he wasn't quite so sure of what this was between them. But he cared deeply for Cullen, and the Commander needed to know that.

He needed to know that Dorian would not judge him. He would not begrudge him of his faults. Nor would he alienate him.

He would not allow this to come between them.

This was not his ailments. He didn't need a healer, nor did he even need a lover. Right now he needed a trusted friend.

First and foremost, they were friends, and perhaps that's precisely what Cullen required of Dorian at this juncture.

It was easy to forget at times that they were only friends who sometimes shared a bed. Easy to get tangled up in his emotions, because he cared so deeply for the warrior. Easy to pretend it could be more. That what they had was real. That it could ever be love. That he and Cullen would commit to one another, be happy with each other, grow old together. Provided they actually survived the end of the world and all that.

That his Beloved would truly be his, always, and wouldn't have to disappear into the night, like a ghost. But Cullen had his own life. His career to consider. His position of Commander of the Inquisition was very crucial to its success. He couldn't afford so many distractions, nor could he afford to have his reputation so heinously tarnished, should anyone learn of the two of them. Dorian could imagine what might happen then.

He could think of all the ways such information could be used against them. All the ways in which their organization might suffer for it. Should the many people that fund the institution find disfavor in the Commander having 'sordid affairs with other men' behind closed doors, they might not be so generous with their coin. Skyhold would be destitute, and the many employed, whose income sustained their families, would be ruined.

All would come crashing down in an instant.

They might accuse Dorian of seducing him with blood magic, string him up and hang him for his wicked crimes. Behead him, or the worst of all, brand him Tranquil. He'd seen those poor drab things wandering around Redcliffe, some of them brought to Skyhold with Fiona's mages as they had none to care for them. No families, and hardly the ability to differentiate between truth and lies without the ability to comprehend emotion.

Their hearts metaphorically ripped from their chests, their voices without laughter, without song, and their ability to so deeply love another mercilessly stripped from them. The very core of their being hallowed out and discarded like waste.

It was heartbreaking.

And terrifying to envision being on the receiving end of.

Oh and let's not forget the overzealous, shemlen hating Dalish Inquisitor, wounded by the Commander rejecting her, then enthusiastically jumping into bed with a Tevinter. With a 'slaver'. Dorian imagined that if Ellana knew of their affair, she would move mountains to break them apart, purely out of spite, not actually out of love for Cullen. She had no care for the wants and needs of others above her own, or that of her precious People.

And should Ellana tear them apart, it would be the final straw to effectively break Dorian's resolve, and end with his head on a pike because he murdered their insipid, self-righteous, self-serving "Herald of Andraste".

He was in knots all morning while washing, shaving away stubble, styling his hair and dressing for the day. Stewing over all the ways in which everything could come tumbling down, but how his heart ached for Cullen. He was rather on edge, marching quickly across the bridge leading to Cullen's tower that day, clutching the little novella of poems he'd finally finished, that he meant to give over to his care.

He hesitated before knocking softly on the door, not quite certain yet of what he would say to the man, heart racing in his chest as he thought it over. But within seconds he heard, "It's open," and took a deep breath, pushing his way inside. Cullen was apprehensive this morning, as he could see Dorian's normally chipper attitude had disappeared, and his normally beaming smile replaced by a frown.

"Good morning," he greeted somberly, walking over to the desk.

"Morning," Cullen mumbled in response.

Dorian didn't lean in for a kiss like he usually did, and instead set down the book on Cullen's desk as he came to lean against it. "I finally finished it," he said. "It's all yours."

"Was it good?" Cullen inquired.

"Now now, darling, don't let me spoil it for you. Read it yourself." Cullen smirked a little at Dorian's tone, but the smile died quickly. He looked tired, in the mage's opinion. As if already that morning's work overencumbered him. And the day had only just begun. "Did you take-"

"I didn't forget," Cullen grumbled as he tore his eyes from Dorian to resume reading the slip of parchment in his hand. Irritated already at something, though Dorian couldn't be sure of what, exactly.

"You fell asleep in my quarters last night," Dorian stated, and Cullen sighed.

"I did, yes," he said. "I hadn't meant to fall asleep there. Luckily I woke up early enough to make it back before dawn this time."

Dorian nodded a little to all that, folding his arms, then took a breath before blurting, "You had a nightmare."

Cullen's throat bobbed when he swallowed. "So I did wake you then," he said.

"We should talk about this," Dorian suggested. Cullen sighed. "Obviously something happened to you that still haunts you. Tell me about your dreams. Are they reoccuring? Are they always the same sequence of events or are they-"

"I don't want to discuss it," he clipped, becoming agitated.

"We must, Cullen," Dorian pressed. "If this happens often for you-"

"I _said_ I don't want to discuss it," he growled.

"I heard you the first time, darling, but you can't shut me out like this. You shouldn't be dealing with something like this all on your own, you should speak to someone-"

"DROP IT!" he snapped, and Dorian flinched. He'd pushed too hard. "It happened ten Maker-forsaken _fucking_ years ago, it's in the past, and that's precisely where I wish for it to stay buried! So if it please you, Mister Pavus, let it rest!"

Dorian blinked rapidly in surprise.

There was a moment of silence between them then, as Dorian's heart pounded in his ears, and Cullen seethed, before slowly calming once more, and looking away.

Then he squeezed his eyes shut, immediately crashing right into regret. Features wrought with grief. Balling his hand into a fist, crumpling his report in the process.

"Maker, Dorian, I'm sorry–please forgive me–I should never have-" His voice cracked a little with emotion. "This wasn't your doing. You did nothing wrong."

But someone did. Someone hurt Cullen badly, and Dorian suspected who it might've been.

A blood mage.

It wasn't that hard for him to put all the pieces together and arrange them accordingly to see it. It was no wonder he despised Halward Pavus more so than even Dorian ever had. It was no wonder that he'd been so suspicious of Dorian in the beginning. No wonder that he struggled with reconciling with the past. And no wonder he'd allowed so many terrible things to occur in the Free Marcher city before finally being made aware of his actions.

Because someone instilled a deep, crippling fear within Cullen of blood magic.

He must've seen it everywhere. In every mage. Such a traumatic event would no doubt cause such forms of delusion and paranoia in the former Templar.

And kaffas! If Dorian didn't want to sweep him into his arms and hold him tightly, sooth him, erase all that pain, reassure him of all the wonders mages could accomplish that could help the world, heal it, but right now Cullen didn't need that sort of care. He needed the support of a friend. "I understand, Cullen," he said softly, causing the man to meet his gaze, regret and sadness in his features. "But you don't need to hide it from me."

"This is not something you can fix, Dorian," he said.

"I can see that. But instead of running away, why not talk to me? I am your friend, Cullen. I may not understand, but I would listen, should you ever need me to."

Cullen looked away. Dorian had thrown his own words back at him. He'd made the very same offer, to listen to Dorian if he needed someone to confide in, and now he was only trying to pay that kindness in return. But Cullen couldn't muster the ability to speak of it. Every time he so much as thought of it, he struggled to breathe. Felt like the walls were closing in on him. And he was angered by it still. Angered that he was so vulnerable.

He had been a Templar. He was now a soldier. He commanded an army. He was supposed to be strong, in face of it. Not be weak and helpless like this. He was supposed to be better.

Not falling apart at the seams like he was.

But Maker if he didn't sometimes want to crawl to Dorian and cling to him in the middle of the night like a child.

He pulled at his collar. "Thank you," he mumbled.

Tentatively Dorian reached to place his hand on Cullen's arm. He didn't shy away from the touch, though felt he truly didn't deserve it. "I'll let you get back to work," Dorian told him. "Should you have need of me, you know where to find me."

"Alright," Cullen nodded a little.

"Shall we meet in the garden for chess?" Again, Cullen nodded. Dorian then pointed to the book of poems on his desk. "You should finish reading it. It's very good, Amatus. I'll think you'll find it rather...uplifting."

He turned and left Cullen's office, off to see to his own duties that were being neglected.

Cullen massaged the back of his neck in angst, staring down at the book.

Dorian had forgotten to remove his placemark, and out of innate curiosity, he opened to the page that was marked with a flower. A piece of lavender. He took a moment to admire the fragile plant, dried, though not decayed, as it had been preserved by minor enchantment. He smelled it. It was calming, rather soothing to his senses. He then stared down at the poem Dorian had marked, having found it to be of interest.

 _In the visions of dark night_  
_I have dreamed of joy departed;_  
_But a waking dream of life and light_  
_Hath left me broken-hearted._

 _Ah! What is not a dream by day_  
_To him whose eyes are cast_  
_On things around him, with a ray_  
_Turned back upon the past?_

 _That holy dream, that holy dream,_  
_While all the world were chiding,_  
_Hath cheered me as a lovely beam_  
_A lonely spirit guiding._

 _What though that light, thro' storm and night,_  
_So trembled from afar–_  
_What could there be more purely bright_  
_In Truth's day-star?_

He chewed his lip, then slowly closed the book, holding the flower still and thinking over Dorian's words to him. _'You don't need to hide it from me.'_ Maybe Dorian was right. Maybe he didn't. But, then again, maybe if Dorian knew of all that had transpired, of all the horrific things that happened, that he'd done and allowed, he wouldn't be so eager to peak behind that curtain. He would run, screaming from Cullen, and wouldn't bother looking back.

Maybe it was easy for Dorian to overlook some parts of Cullen because people accused him of atrocious things on a daily basis, and he knew how wild and imaginative people could get with their assumptions, but...Maker's breath, if Dorian only knew what terrible things Cullen would've accused him of, had him branded for, not so very long ago, with no real proof, only suspicion...How harshly he would've treated him.

The ways he would have tortured him...

It pained him to think of. Even more so knowing how good Dorian was to him. How pressing when he felt he needed to be, yet patient.

For fuck sake, he'd screamed in Dorian's face and the man only _blinked_ at him!

_Andraste preserve me, I truly don't deserve that man._

The remainder of the day was a struggle for both men, as Cullen avoided seeking Dorian out for any reason other than keeping his appointment, his promise that they would meet in the garden for chess. He would not go back on his word if he could help it, but he loathed to be in the mage's company. Dorian deserved better than him. Far better. And he didn't feel worthy of the attention. Could barely bring himself to so much as look him in the eye.

He threw the match, to add insult to injury.

It irritated Dorian that Cullen hardly said two words to him, and left him in an ill state all afternoon. Magical studies were suddenly more bothersome, the apprentices were overly irritating, and Fiona and Vivienne's petty squabbles grated on his very last nerve. Cullen faired no better, his sour mood carried over to the War Room that evening, and since he was so sullen, Josephine and Leliana had to probe him with questions.

He snapped at them, and stormed out.

They knew it must've had something to do with Dorian, and knew it was not their business to get involved in Cullen's private life.

But ever crossed were their fingers behind their backs.

Though the final straw to break Dorian that day was that Cullen declined his invitation to meet in his quarters that night. Cullen never showed. Dorian could only wonder as to the real reason why, but he could certainly take a few guesses. Regardless, he knew what Cullen was doing. He was closing himself off again, metaphorically slamming the door shut, locking it up tighter than before. But Dorian would not stand for it.

So, having about enough of Cullen's behavior, Dorian made a decision.

If Cullen wouldn't come to him, he'd go to Cullen.

He'd done as much as he could as a friend.

And so if he couldn't magically cure Cullen's ailments, nor heal him through the power of friendship, there was only one man left suitable for the job.

The lover.

Cullen needed love.

He crept to the kitchens that evening, intent on swiping some of the sweets Cook whipped up and stored away for breakfast the following morning, without so much as a guilty conscience on the matter. Cullen needed it more than the pompous perfumed Orlesian nobles that would greedily stuff their faces at the table in the Great Hall. Once the comfort food was safe in his clutches, he made his way to Cullen's tower and knocked.

But he didn't wait for Cullen to accept or decline him, and simply barged in before Cullen could speak. He had just finished undressing, armor hanging neatly on the stand. Determined to sleep in his own bed that night. He whipped around, surprised, when Dorian entered. "Dorian! I..." _Oh with the bloody neck rubbing again..._ "I was just about to turn in," he informed, and Dorian nodded.

"I can see that," he said. "As was I," he added, then walked directly to the ladder and made the climb, without any sort of explanation.

"What?" Cullen gaped in confusion, watching Dorian climb up to his loft. He walked over to the ladder to peer up at the opening in bewilderment. Then followed, observing Dorian as he set a box on the nightstand, a satchel on the floor, then snapped his fingers, lighting the candles set atop. "What are you doing?" Cullen asked, as Dorian had begun to undress, unstrapping his attire and splaying across the chest against the wall.

"If you can't come to me, Amatus, I can come to you," he said.

"But I...But you...I thought you didn't want to-"

"That I didn't want to what? Be with you tonight? Perish the thought, darling."

"And you don't think people will grow suspicious if they see you entering my quarters at such a late hour?"

Dorian shrugged out of his tunic, tossed it aside, and approached Cullen. "You were the one that said we spend so much time together, no one would bat an eyelash, yes?" he reminded, to which Cullen deflated.

"I did say that yes, but-"

"But nothing, Cullen," he interrupted, reaching up to caress his jaw. "You don't need to run away from me," he said, then watched his jaw tick at the reminder of their previous argument. "But if you would rather me leave, tell me."

"No, I want you to stay, it's just..."

"What's rule number one?"

Cullen sighed again. "If you do something I don't like, I must tell you."

"Yes, very good. Honesty, Cullen. That's all I require of you. No more questions for now. If you want to talk about it, we'll talk. If not, I won't press the issue. If you want me here, I'll stay. If you want me gone, I'll go. But you need to tell me what you want, darling."

Cullen mulled it over for a moment before saying, "I want you to stay."

Dorian slipped his arms around Cullen's waist. "Then show me," he murmured as he leaned in for a kiss, pecking his lips softly. "Take me to that bed over there and make love to me, Amatus. Show me how much you want me to stay. Please."

It was like a dam broke in the Commander at those words.

And all the tension between them finally dissipated.

Maybe this was what they _both_ needed.

And try as he might to resist, Cullen _needed_ this man in his arms. So he pulled him closer, and kissed feverishly, trying his hardest to pour all of that emotion into his kiss. Every ounce of his heart into it. Withered it may be but sincerely–madly, hopelessly, and _undeniably_ –beating only for him. He gently nudged them toward the bed, and set Dorian on it, stripping them out of the remainder of their clothing, then rolled him over, positioning him on his knees.

Content to be on his behind him, worshipping him like the god he was.

He kissed along his neck and shoulder, his back, touching him as he pleased, inducing all those little moans and sighs he so loved to hear. Muscles flexing, tightening, as he roamed. "So what's in the satchel?" he asked. Dorian groaned.

"Good things, Amatus, very good things."

He could guess what one of those things might be. "Don't move," he said, and got up from the bed to search its contents for that little bottle of oil Dorian stashed inside. There it was, and so Cullen returned, popping the cork. He liked how that felt, to reach inside him with his fingers, finding that lovely spot that made him whimper helplessly like a little lost puppy left out in the cold, just like the night before. Loved the idea of breaking Dorian apart.

And with each touch leading to the Altus' utmost pleasure, slowly working to amend for every cruel thing ever done by Cullen's own hand.

With every kiss, atoning for every sin.

With every breathless moan, begging forgiveness.

Replacing cries of despair with cries of ecstacy.

And he did cry out, when the Commander slipped a finger inside, and slowly worked to undo him, eventually adding a second. A stream of Dorian's native language was to follow, followed by more moans and sighs, slowly becoming more desperate, more pleading, raising higher and higher in pitch. Cullen drank it in like the purest water to quench his undying thirst. Craved those sounds more than he'd ever craved Lyrium.

He'd already reduced Dorian to a complete mess by the time he'd dared to add a third into the equation. He lost his mind then. After a moment's care, he heard, "Mnh, Amatus, please take me now! Please!"

He was happy to oblige, removing his hand and pouring more oil to slick his aching cock. Then he began to insert, though Dorian would not allow him to take his time, reaching behind him to grip him tightly and pull him flush, Cullen losing his breath that instant. Maker, did it feel wonderful! He found a feasible rhythm that Dorian found quite pleasurable, that both found to be quite satisfying, but it would not be enough.

It would not be like before, not tonight.

Tonight, Cullen would willfully labor over finding Dorian's release, above all other things, to feel him come, with his cock buried deep inside him. Or break himself trying.

He would give Dorian all he desired and more.

So he thrust harder, faster, expending all the effort his possessed to keep from spilling inside him, hearing all the lovely little strings of curses Dorian panted, sweat pouring down his brow. The bed mercilessly pounding against the wall, knocking things off the nightstand next to it. The candles flew off and extinguished, wax spilling across the floor, the room bathed in complete darkness for a moment, until a flash of moonlight hung down from the ceiling.

Cullen's eyes adjusted to see Dorian's form in that moonlight. Absolute perfection.

He continued to the very last second before he heard a broken moan and felt it, the incredible sensation of Dorian coming undone around his cock. He lost all ability to hold back then, and so quickly easily spent inside him, with a shaken cry.

He'd never felt lighter. Brighter, than in that haze.

Maker, how he loved this man.

His passionate lover. His dedicated healer. His devoted friend.

If only he could stop the world from ever turning, freeze this moment in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this note has been edited 9:39 pm est 11-13-18)
> 
> Poem is an earlier work by Edgar Allan Poe, titled "A Dream". I cannot take credit for it.
> 
> TL;DR:
> 
> A couple of things to say about this chapter, given the topics approached. First, a tip to anyone who has never lived with someone who suffers from PTSD or night terrors. It is _not_ always a good idea to wake someone from a bad dream. Their reaction may be violent, and not only does that endanger you, but saddles them with the guilt of accidently hurting you, and just sucks man. Take it from someone who knows. Dude, don't poke the sleeping bear. I can't tell you how many times I've read fics where the Quiz tries to _wake Cullen up_ like that's somehow supposed to help. Only in one of those fics did Quiz get a likely response and almost got strangled because Cully thought she was a frickin' demon, MKay? So FWI, sometimes it's better to let them wake naturally. Just be there for them when they wake, hold them if needed, and listen if they need to talk. You'll both be better for it.
> 
> Secondly, I know Dorian's overinflating what might happen if they're discovered, but look, he comes from a country where he had to hide. Or in his case, dear old dad wants to forcibly change him. And places like Orlais will use anything against someone to gain political power. While most of Thedas might accept two men in love, not everyone "Greatly Approves", am I right?
> 
> Okay, leaving now. Hope you liked.


	21. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian spends the night in Cullen's loft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, my patient readers, have some mild angst, hurt/comfort-ish Cullrian sweetness.

"Maker's breath, Cullen! Where...did _that_ come from?!" Dorian panted breathlessly, trembling still, causing Cullen to chuckle.

Evidently, his prowess in bed that night came as a surprise to his love.

"You told me to," He panted as well, utterly exhausted, and swallowed, throat rather dry, "To show you how much I wanted you to stay."

"You _really_ want me to stay," Dorian surmised, and again, Cullen laughed a little, then slowly eased out of the mage, then searched for something with which to wipe up the mess they made. He heard Dorian dramatically flop down onto his back with a sigh as he stumbled around in the dimly lit room. Yes, Cullen wanted Dorian to stay that night, and every night. Wanted desperately to wake up to that face every morning.

Once having sufficiently dealt with the mess on the bed and the both of them, Cullen allowed Dorian to pull him down onto the bed with him, let him push him onto his back. Dorian then came to rest tucked into his side, with his head on his chest. "What was in that box?" Cullen asked, out of curiosity, and Dorian lifted his head to glance at it. The box of candies had fallen off the stand, to the floor, sadly.

"Truffles. Likely ruined now," he groused, only slightly resentful over that fact, that his treat for Cullen had toppled to the floor, but quite satisfied with the reason as to why. Due to their hot, steaming, sweaty, and ever so intense love making. Certainly nothing worth complaining about. He lay his head back down and nuzzled the Commander, hearing him hum delightfully in response, feeling calloused fingers lightly trace his arm.

After a time, he heard, "You should probably head back to your quarters before it gets too late. We both know you can't stay the night."

"Oh don't fret, darling," Dorian sighed. "No one saw me coming here tonight. And I'm beginning to doubt they'll even notice my leaving either. Kaffas, I'm in your office every morning! Rather, they might suspect something is _wrong_ if I'm not poking my head out your door so bright and early. I'll stay."

Cullen snorted. "Just because they didn't see you, doesn't mean they didn't _hear_ you just now."

"Oh I wasn't _that_ loud," he said. "We shall have to amend that next time." The Commander chuckled at that. But the laughter soon tapered and he sighed.

"Dorian, I..." Cullen trailed off. He could hear it in Dorian's voice. How nonchalantly he spoke, as if it were nothing trivial at all, but just underneath the surface, how he loathed to part with Cullen. Made every excuse to stay. Dorian was the one that wanted this affair to be private, just between the two of them, and Cullen understood why. Understood his fears. But now Dorian was singing a different tune. Things were changing. Cullen could feel it.

Maker did he want them to.

But he was hesitant still, to allow them. Unsure if this was really truly wise. Especially after their argument earlier in the day.

"You don't want me to leave."

"No, I don't, but neither do I want to keep you awake. My dreams, they..."

"They are the _real_ reason you're shoving me out the door, yes? They happen often, Amatus?"

"Yes...Every night. For the past ten years."

Interesting. It didn't escape Dorian's notice that ten years ago, the Fifth Blight swept across Ferelden. And he remembered all Cullen had ever told him about that time in his life. His time spent in Ferelden's Circle. Which was next to nothing.

Now he understood why.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Cullen swallowed, thinking about it. "No," he finally answered. No, he didn't want to talk about his nightmares. He wanted to forget them. Prayed each and every day that he would forget them. But his prayers always went unanswered. And on nights like tonight, he would rather not dwell on what was likely to come. "I...don't wish to disturb you. You won't get any rest. And besides, it's too cold up here for your tastes anyway."

"You wouldn't have that problem if you put in a furnace."

Cullen huffed. "True, and I would gladly give that some consideration, but...wouldn't you rather be in your own quarters where you're comfortable?"

"I'm quite comfortable now, thank you very much."

"Dorian-"

"Hush, Amatus. Stop fretting. It'll be fine."

Cullen took a deep breath, and let it out in a huff. Maker, he hoped so. His heart raced madly in his chest. He'd never spent the night with anyone before, and he couldn't say what would become of this, but it did feel good to have Dorian in his arms again. He could only hope this night didn't ruin everything for the both of them. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Dorian, or drive him away. He only wished for his happiness.

_But if this is what he wants, what will make him happy..._

"Dorian," Cullen murmured, curling his arms around him tighter, "I don't wish to hurt you."

"I know that, darling," he mumbled back. "So you'll let me stay here tonight?"

"If you'd prefer to, yes," Cullen relented.

"Cullen, need I remind you of the first rule again?"

"No, but I'm merely deferring to the second rule. Respecting your wishes."

"So we bend the rules now?"

"You bent the first one."

Dorian scoffed a little. "I'm beginning to reconsider them entirely. They're causing a bit of a conflict of interest."

"Then how about we compromise, and just follow the third?"

"And how do you plan to bend that one, Amatus?"

Cullen snorted a little. "Any way I see fit that will keep you here."

Dorian smiled. He wouldn't argue against that.

"Goodnight, darling."

"Goodnight," _My Love,_ Cullen finished in his head.

He then breathed a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut, then leaning to press his lips into the mage's soft, feathery black hair and kiss the top of his head. Dorian felt Cullen's heart drumming wildly beneath his palm, and gently soothed by rubbing his chest. They fell asleep just like that, neither shifting from the embrace. Dorian's dreams were a fuzzy, indiscernible haze, vague memories of his childhood he drifted seamlessly through.

But Cullen's, on the other hand, were not.

He jerked in his sleep, jolting Dorian awake.

His heart pounded rapidly, not fully aware of what was happening at first until he felt Cullen shaking, and shifting restlessly. "Leave me!" he said in his sleep. "L-leave me!" he repeated. Dorian held perfectly still while he thrashed, knowing that if he moved, he might upset Cullen further, if he didn't know it was Dorian touching him. His breath quickened and he jerked upward suddenly, startled awake and gasping for air.

For a moment, Cullen struggled to breathe still, trembling, petrified.

He looked around the moonlit room.

His room. His loft at Skyhold, where there was a door that swung open wide at his touch. A hole in the roof from which filtered soft light. Not a prison. Not a cage. There was no magical light, only that of the moon. Not Kinloch. He wasn't trapped anymore and it had all been a dream. _Thank the Maker_ , Cullen thought, letting his head fall back to the pillow. "Cullen?" he heard, and realized Dorian was still in the room, pressed against him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he said. Dorian shifted, rubbing his arm affectionately.

"It's alright, darling," he said.

"Did...did I hurt you? I didn't know-"

"I'm fine, Cullen," he assured.

Cullen relaxed completely, and closed his eyes, relieved to hear that.

And relieved to find that he wasn't alone. That the man he so desired was right there next to him, holding him close. It was a wonderful feeling. He'd never felt anything like it, but had always hoped for it. Didn't deserve it, but...maybe one day he would. One day actually earn the affections of the man that held him close. He would certainly spend every day trying. That, at least, was a promise he could keep.

Eventually both drifted back to sleep, and the next time Cullen woke, it was to the sound of the rooster crowing from afar, perched atop the barn. He opened his eyes to see the barest hints of early morning light above him, the sky a darkened blue. Dorian had shifted at some point, and was now pressed against his arm, face half buried under the pillow. Cullen let his eyes wander over him a moment, naked in his bed, sheets low on his hips.

Hair all mussed up from sleep. So unlike how sophisticated he appeared to be during waking hours. Mustache having relaxed of its usual upturn, features soft, not pinched into a scowl, no derisive glare, no furrowing of the brow, just...serenity. Peaceful in his deep sleep, frame slowly rising and falling with steady breathing. Cullen needed to rise, but he wouldn't dare disturb such an exquisite creature, so quietly and carefully he crept.

He dressed carefully too, then mutely descended the ladder, leaving Dorian to sleep in. There were no soldiers in need of waking this morning, as the latest to have been recruited completed their training and all were sent out on assignment. Only those left behind to patrol the keep or just returning from assignment and therefore on brief holiday before heading back out, were present today. No new reports on his desk either.

So he relaxed in the chair at his desk, rubbing his eyes, thinking over the previous night in his head. Dorian so determined to stay, then comforting him after a bout of fitful sleep. And he was just up there still, close by, not on the other side of the keep. But there, with Cullen. He thought of skipping breakfast and crawling back into bed before he'd have to dress and head to the morning meeting, but the door burst open, startling him.

He looked up to see the Seeker standing before him.

"Morning, Cullen, I was just-"

"Shhh!" he quickly shushed, holding up a finger. "Not so loud!" he whispered.

"Why are we whispering?" she hissed. He pointed to the second floor above.

"You'll wake him up!"

"Him?!" she questioned, eyes widening, and so did Cullen's.

"Dammit," he cursed. "That...didn't come out right. Uh," he rubbed his neck.

"Him?" she repeated. "Is...is that...Cullen, who's up there?"

"Dorian," he sighed.

"Dorian?!" she gasped, hand flying to her mouth. "Did...did you sleep with Dorian? Maker, Cullen! I didn't even know you liked other men!"

Cullen held his breath while Cassandra just gaped at him in surprise, having no idea how she might react to this information.

She huffed. "Well, then," she quipped. "Is...is it serious?"

"Uhm, yes, I think it is."

"You think it is?"

"Yes. It is serious, yes."

"Ah. Well...shit."

Cullen snorted a little. _Someone's been spending too much time with the storyteller,_ he thought. "You don't approve."

"What? No! I...I don't think it's any of my business who you spend your time with, Cullen. Who you love is of no concern to me. I'm simply surprised. As I said, I had no idea you preferred such company."

Cullen let out that breath. Cassandra wasn't appalled, just shocked. Who wouldn't be, honestly? "Please don't tell anyone," he requested. "I'd like for this to remain a private affair, if you don't mind."

"You know me, Cullen. I'm not one to gossip. It will stay between us."

"Thank you."

There was an awkward silence for a moment before Cassandra slowly broke into a smile. "You and Dorian?" she repeated, absolutely thrilled by the idea, if she were to be honest. She could see how the mage cared very much for Cullen, evident by how supportive he was of him. It was a wonder she didn't see it sooner. The two must've been in love. "I'm happy for you both," she assured the Commander. "I hope it works out for you."

"I...thank you, Cassandra."

"And do not worry," she added. "If you do not wish to make your relationship known, I won't speak of it. I understand. I know how judgemental others can be."

"I greatly appreciate that, Seeker. I..." He sighed. "It's not like I'm _ashamed_ of it, really, I just...Dorian and I decided it would be better to keep this to ourselves, for now. And, well, you know how quickly word spreads at Skyhold. You tell one person-"

"Suddenly everyone knows, yes," Cassandra nodded.

"And people might not understand."

"And they might make assumptions," Cassandra speculated. He nodded.

"I don't want to ruin this for him. I...care very deeply for him, Seeker," he admitted. "I don't want to hurt him, much less allow others to, because of what we share." He felt like a small portion of the weight he'd been carrying having been lifted from his shoulders having said all that aloud. The Seeker smiled a little and nodded in understanding. "I appreciate your support, Seeker. It means a lot."

"I'm glad if I helped you in any way," she said. "I'll trouble you no more. I had only wished to see how you were feeling today. Leliana mentioned you weren't out of sorts last night."

He sighed and smiled. "I'm much better now, I think."

With one final nod, Cassandra left his office and Cullen sank deep in his chair.

Maker, if that didn't feel good to tell someone about Dorian. It was absolutely terrifying, of course, but...all the same, it just...well, it made him feel lighter, in a sense. He smiled to himself, then heard rustling upstairs, Dorian shifting around on the bed. Excitedly, he climbed the ladder and tiptoed over to the bed, resting gently on it. Dorian stretched and groaned, then rolled over. "I heard whispering," he mumbled groggily.

"I...told the Seeker about us," he said, and Dorian blinked.

Then he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Did...you just tell me you told Cassandra about us?" he asked, confused.

"Yes," Cullen smiled. "It's alright," he assured, when Dorian opened his mouth to chastise. "She can keep a secret. And she's happy for us both."

"Truly?" Dorian questioned, furrowing his brow. Cullen nodded. "So...you told someone about us."

"Not purposefully. It sort of slipped out by accident, but yes."

"Well then...I can see you're...rather happy about that."

"I am, yes," he smiled. Dorian gaped at him for a moment, then flopped back down on the bed and sighed.

"So we're not a secret anymore, are we?"

"No, we aren't."

"Well, there goes all my fun."

Cullen rolled his eyes at Dorian's sarcasm. Then he climbed in bed beside him, pulling him close.

"Don't you have work to do, Amatus?" Dorian asked.

"Nothing needs my immediate attention, no. What say you and I skip breakfast and stay in bed?"

Dorian hugged Cullen closer, heart pounding in his rapture. "I would like nothing more," he sighed happily, and smiled when Cullen hummed agreeably.

Oh there were no words for what Dorian felt at the moment.

That Cullen shared their secret, that he was _happy_ about that. That he _wanted_ people to know about the two of them. Truly desired it. He'd never had that before. No man he'd ever been with ever wanted share it. They'd rather have kept Dorian a secret, as if he were so scandalous. No man had ever been more than ashamed of him. But not Cullen. No, Cullen proved he was more than just a dirty secret to be kept, after all.

He sank contentedly into his arms and grinned from ear to ear.

Things were changing.

But maybe that was a good change for them both.

Maybe it wouldn't turn out quite so bad after all.

He breathed in the intoxicating scent of his Beloved's hair and bit his lip.

 _Maker, but I love this man_ , he thought.

And beside him...so did Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Huge step for Cullen, eh? *Sigh* They grow up so fast!
> 
> Now if only these two would blurt out those three little words, am I right?


	22. Keeping Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen contemplate making their affair common knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was upset that my last update was so short, only about 2800 words when usually I've been averaging 4k to 4500 words per chapter. So to make up for that, here's a nice lengthy chapter filled with angst. XD

In bed they might've stayed, but sleep was the very last thing on either man's to-do list that morning. Instead, they first spent part of it slowly and leisurely pleasuring one another. There could be no better start to the day, in their opinion. But they did take a brief nap afterwards. Well, _Dorian_ took a nap, as this time of day was far too early for his liking, but Cullen, who was quite used to being awake this hour, simply held him.

They discovered that the truffles Dorian brought the night before hadn't all perished. Some were still tucked safely inside the box, so when Dorian woke again, they lounged in bed eating what was left of the dessert for breakfast, the various pieces of chocolate filled with crème, caramel and even one with cherries they divided in half to share equally–Cullen making a mess Dorian was happy to lick clean–chatting about whatever came to mind.

Cullen didn't want to talk about his dreams still, but neither did Dorian ask about them again.

Though they could only remain undisturbed for so long, and all too soon they were interrupted by a soldier barging into his office. "Commander?" the young woman called, and Cullen cursed under his breath.

"I'll be down in a moment," he responded, and reluctantly tore himself from Dorian's side to quickly dress then slide down the ladder, landing with a huff. He straightened his attire at the bottom. "Report," he rumbled to the ginger haired maiden in scout dressing, cloth hood pulled from her head, who stood at attention near the door. One of Leliana's, if he recalled. Charter, he was certain was her name, but couldn't be sure.

"Nothing to report, sir," she told him, to his surprise. "No new activity. Sister Leliana simply asked me to see if you were well. You weren't in the Great Hall for breakfast."

"Ah," he nodded briefly. But Charter still stood there for a moment still. "So everything's quiet today, is it?" he asked, and she nodded.

"For the moment, yes. So shall I tell the Spymaster you'll be at this morning's meeting, sir?"

"Yes, I'll be there."

"Will do then. Enjoy your day, sir."

"You as well."

She brought her fist across her chest in salute, then curtly left the room, leaving Cullen to roll his eyes and shake his head at how Leliana was checking up on him like this. Probably wanted to find him and Dorian sprawled across his desk or something. The woman was just itching for juicy details of their goings on. Josephine as well. He then leaned against the doorframe in contemplation. No activity today? That meant he had the day off, more or less.

A day off. Now there was an interesting thought.

When, since all this began, had he ever taken a day to himself? He couldn't remember ever having done so. There was always something that demanded his attention. But if there was nothing that could be done at the moment, well...He supposed he could relax, yes? He scratched his head for a moment at the idea. He almost didn't know how to behave without some sort of distraction. Didn't know what to do with himself.

Perhaps he could take the time to recalibrate the trebuchets?

"No, I already did that yesterday," he mumbled to himself. "Maker's breath, is there really nothing that needs to be done then?"

He heard rustling upstairs, and wondered what Dorian was up to. He climbed the ladder and peaked through the opening to see he was sitting up on the bed, partly dressed, and throwing on his tunic. He climbed all the way up and approached Dorian, settling on the bed next to him as he was pulling a small mirror out of his satchel and starting fussing over his hair. "Kaffas! I look hideous! I don't know how you can stand the sight of me."

Cullen rolled his eyes and flopped backwards onto the bed.

"I find you rather attractive when you first wake up, actually," he informed, and Dorian scoffed in disbelief.

"You should set your standards a little higher then, Amatus."

Cullen sighed, shaking his head. "Why do you preen so much?"

"Why do you preen so little?" Dorian countered.

"Because I don't think commanding an army means my attention should be quite so focused on my appearance."

"Hmm," Dorian hummed, setting the mirror aside and rolling over to straddle the Commander, bending to toy with his hair. "Well, perhaps you could use a little preening, darling. I'm starting to see why Varric calls you Curly." He absently played with one of those curls just then, as Cullen grimaced.

"Oh no," he groaned. "Alright, up," he said, gently nudging Dorian off of him so that he could make his way over to the washbasin nearby. Dorian obliged and let Cullen up, sprawling across the bed to watch, mildly amused, while Cullen fussed over his own appearance, borrowing the mirror to see the damage for himself. He set the mirror aside, removed his shirt, and wet his head before searching for a bottle of something in his nightstand.

He then proceeded to smooth the elixir through his locks, combing them back away from his face. Dorian found it rather attractive, the way Cullen affixed his dampened hair in place with his fingers, shirtless, and would absolutely love to see that every morning. "Ah, so that's how you do it," Dorian commented, smirking. "There's a little bet going on around the keep as to whether or not you actually use a tonic to straighten your hair."

"I'm aware," Cullen groused. "I have to hear comments from Josephine and Leliana about it in the War Room."

"But you're so against having curly hair that you choose to suffer the comments?"

"If you've heard as many insults as I have over the years, you'd be thanking the Maker your hair doesn't give you such trouble."

Dorian smiled. "I rather like your hair." Cullen sighed at that. "Oh now why the sighing, Amatus? I said I liked it. I didn't say you should stop fixing it so."

He narrowed his eyes, regarding him suspiciously for a moment, to which Dorian merely smiled. Cullen then conceded to Dorian's point that maybe he could use a little more fussing, feeling the growth of stubble accumulating on his face, and pulled a razor and cream from his belongings in the chest nearby. Dorian then observed Cullen as he shaved, absently giving the idea of living with Cullen some small consideration.

He'd always envisioned moments of domesticity with a man, waking up, dressing for the day, sharing his life with someone like this. All the little minor things, like observing his partner while he fixed his hair, shaved his face. Perhaps even assisting him with such tasks. He then glanced around the room, rubbing his chin, pondering that. Provided some measures of upkeep were done to the place, he wouldn't mind it so much.

Maybe patch the roof, put in a window instead. That way Cullen could still see the world outside, be reminded that it did exist. So he wouldn't feel so trapped, in complete darkness and despair. Put a latch on it so that it could open, should Cullen need the fresh air. Put in a small furnace so that Dorian wouldn't be so chilly should he ever stay the night. Or...every night. There was enough room in Cullen's loft for a chest of belongings.

Throw in a little cushioned chair in the corner with a stand to hold a candle for reading, a new set of sheets, a bigger blanket, a trap door with a lock over the opening for privacy, maybe a throw rug too, and it could be quite cozy of a living space.

He would be closer to the mages' tower, closer to the main hall of the keep and the Undercroft. It was all just a short walk across the bridge. He would be no further from the training yard than he would be in his own quarters. Cullen wouldn't have to worry about making it back to his office before dawn. And the best part: Dorian would fall into bed with the Commander every night, and wake up to him every morning.

But there was one small problem with this arrangement.

A little snag in the line, so to speak.

If he stayed with Cullen, all of Skyhold would know they were together.

He wasn't so sure if he was ready for that.

And still unsure as to how Cullen would even feel about making such a commitment. To live with one another? That was something _married_ men did, not men like Dorian. Perhaps not even men like Cullen. It was one thing to share their secret with the Seeker of Truth, yet another entirely to live together. They shared much of their lives with one another already, but such a thing was for people that weren't only friends sharing a bed.

More than just lovers they would be. Cullen and Dorian would be in a _relationship_. There would be no doubt of it then.

"So, the Seeker approves of us, does she?" he chose to ask while Cullen shaved. The Commander shrugged, and paused in his actions to respond, wiping his blade.

"She doesn't disapprove," he said. "Said it was not her concern if we're sleeping together. That it's none of her business. I gather only were it to concern the Inquisition would she mind. But as for her opinion of two men together, she neglected to comment. Only said she's happy for us. As I've said, Dorian, it happens here more often than you think. And _some_ are polite enough to keep out of someone's private affairs."

"I see," Dorian commented. Then he took a breath. "How do you feel about telling others then?"

Cullen paused again, blade to his face, and slowly lowered it. He didn't glance at Dorian, but he did set down the razor and sigh. He could hear the apprehension in Dorian's tone when he asked that question. It was one thing to slip up and let the Seeker in on their secret, but another entirely to make all of Skyhold–all of the _world_ –aware of their relations. Things would certainly change for Cullen if he did.

He struggled enough as it were with the way the world looked at him now. Seeing the man from Varric's _Tale of the Champion_. Seeing their illustrious Commander of the Inquisition. Struggled every day to be the man everyone assumed him to be because that was the man he _aspired_ to be. A stronger man. A better man. But if everyone knew he slept with Dorian, people would then see a different man completely.

He would be faced with the sort of prejudice against that sort of thing that all others were. That Dorian was. He could only imagine the sort of comments the men under his command might make behind his back. He'd given all of that much thought, since all of this began. It was one thing to hear Leliana and Josephine snicker about him having dinner in private with Dorian, but another thing entirely to have made that public knowledge.

Yes, he'd given all of that a lot of thought. A lot of aggravating thought. Tore his hair out about it before he'd even so much as asked Dorian to dinner weeks ago. He finished up the last section of his neck yet unshaved, then wiped his blade, and his face, saying, "If the world can handle a Dalish elf leading the Inquisition, Dorian, I don't think it will mind so much if its Commander likes other men, do you?"

He finally turned and met Dorian's gaze. The Altus took a deep breath through his nose and let it out in a huff. "And should that Dalish elf learn of us, Amatus?" he then inquired. "You do remember that you rejected her advances, yes? Under the pretense that you do not wish to be involved with anyone because of your duties to the Inquisition? Among other things?" Cullen closed his eyes and let his head drop at those questions.

"I did, yes," he said. "And I had thought of that."

"And you don't think Ellana will be upset about that? That you _lied_ to her, Cullen?"

He opened his eyes, sporting a scowl. "As if she weren't the first to lie? I'll tell her the truth, Dorian. And she'll bloody well deal with it. Just like all of Skyhold can deal with it! Things are different now. This...this is different, Dorian." The mage didn't look convinced, and absently fiddled with his ring in angst as he stared up at him. "...Is that not what you want? To stop hiding from everyone? Or to live precisely the way you did in Tevinter?"

Dorian sighed. He hadn't meant for this discussion to become an _argument_ between them. If every debate would get heated, they wouldn't get very far, now would they?

"I'm only asking you to consider what you would be doing, Amatus," Dorian told him, calmly, though his heart was racing, as Cullen's voice had raised a little in irritation. "Curious if you've actually thought it through. And considered the consequences. Nothing more. If...If it would be something...something _you_ wanted, Cullen."

It was Cullen's turn to sigh. Then he surprised Dorian a little when he stepped closer, then knelt beside the bed, now eye-level with the mage. He reached for Dorian's hand, squeezing it. "People are going to say what they will about me, regardless of what I think," he said. "I've lived with that for years already. Would I want them to? No. Maker's breath, I'd like to wring the neck of every miserable gossiping wretch at Skyhold."

Dorian snorted in amusement at that.

"But can I ignore it? Yes, I believe I can. I have so far," Cullen then told him. To Dorian's amazement, though he kept his facial expression rather neutral. Cullen chuckled a little. "I can ignore it as easily as I can overlook your cheating at chess."

"I don't..." Cullen eyed him knowingly. "They're Tevinter rules. They're perfectly legal moves to make. It's not cheating, Amatus, I'm simply playing a different game," he defended, with a pout, and Cullen shook his head at him. Dorian squeezed his hand. "Have you considered how this might affect your Inquisition, darling? Should people learn of their pristine Commander perhaps being...not quite so pristine?"

"I already have little care for what any of those Orlesian nobles might think of me, Dorian. And if they did think anything of it, I'm sure Josephine or Leliana would have a way to deal with it. Just like they deal with Ellana's blunders."

Of which there were quite a few.

Dorian continued to fidget, however, casting Cullen a sidelong look. Cullen was telling him everything he wanted–no, _needed_ –to hear from the man, but...

"She doesn't trust me, Cullen," he finally blurted, and it was the Commander's turn to blink rapidly for a moment at such a confession. "The only real reason she recruited me was so that the Inquisition could keep tabs on me. In case I turn out to be an evil blood mage or Venatori agent in disguise. And should she be jealous of the two of us? She might accuse me of being such things, darling. Call for my head on a platter."

"You don't honestly think Ellana would-"

"She might. Or she might simply send me away. Regardless, she might not take to kindly to Skyhold's Evil Tevinter _Slaver_ stealing her Commander."

Cullen glanced down at where their hands were joined, in thought of that.

He had no idea Ellana didn't trust Dorian still.

"Why did you never tell me this?" he asked. "That Ellana doesn't trust you?"

"It was never of any consequence before, darling. I've nothing to hide. But you, I suppose."

And honestly, the last thing he wanted to do was whine and complain about the way Ellana treated him and give her that satisfaction.

But Cullen had never been aware of this until now.

"But you honestly believe the Inquisitor would come between us?"

"Possibly. She's Dalish, darling. I'm from Tevinter. The odds of us ever seeing eye to eye, much less getting along, were slim to nothing from the start. The odds are stacked ever in her favor, I'm afraid. And were she to dismiss me from Skyhold, would you disobey her order, Cullen? The order of your Inquisitor? For my sake? Would you truly put your selfish desires above your sworn fealty, Amatus?"

Cullen sighed.

"So this is what your afraid of, is it?" he asked.

He was met with silence.

For once, Dorian had no witty reply, merely glanced away.

No, this wasn't only fear. Dorian was absolutely _terrified_.

Cullen didn't know what more to say on the matter. "So you want to keep it a secret then."

"No, that's _not_ what I want at all," he said, rather resentfully. "I want your Herald of Andraste to accept that I am not the demonic sycophant of her precious _People's_ nightmares."

"Yes, I suppose that's rather difficult when the people of Tevinter are currently the south's number one enemy, I'd wager," Cullen groused. He then eyed Dorian sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Dorian."

"And now he apologises," he grumbled with an eye roll. Cullen affectionately caressed Dorian's knuckles with his thumb. "Don't fret, Amatus," Dorian then told him. "I just...I don't want to let her ruin this somehow."

Neither did Cullen. "She won't. But if keeping this a secret is what you want-"

" _Rules_ , Cullen," Dorian reminded, but Cullen shook his head and leaned in for a kiss.

"Forget the rules," he said, then pecked Dorian's lips. "As of now, we're establishing new ones."

"And those would be?"

"Whatever you wish, whatever makes you happy, Dorian-"

"I hate them already."

"- _And_ if it means I get to be with you, that's what we'll do," Cullen finished, glazing over Dorian's comment.

"One flaw," he heard Dorian mutter under his breath. "Was that so fucking difficult?"

"What?" Cullen questioned.

"Oh nothing," he sighed dramatically. "Time for a change in subject, darling. Have you work to run off to?"

Cullen shook his head. "Not really, no. I was going to meet the other advisers in the War Room, but...there's nothing more I can do. Things are relatively quiet today. And until Ellana leaves the Exalted Plains, there are no operations we can tackle."

Dorian bit his lip. "Quiet, you say?"

"As a mouse...for the moment. And you? Knight enchantment again?"

"Ah, no," Dorian shook his head a little. "The apprentices have all completed their training, passed with...well, I won't say flying colors, but they won't die, at least. Poor dear Helisma is even more dull than ever as she has no new subjects to study. And Dagna has no more information she can glean from our little project. I expect today to be...very much a bore, in truth." His eyes passed over Cullen's form briefly. "What ever shall we do then, darling?"

The Commander mulled it over. "How about we...meet in the garden later, after the meeting? Maybe...spend the day together? I honestly wouldn't know what to do though. I've hardly taken the time to breathe since this all began, let alone had a whole day to myself before."

"Yes, we barely have the time to play chess, don't we?"

Which was why they killed two birds with one stone and played during lunch.

Cullen nodded. "Well, we could start with chess?" he smiled a little, and so did Dorian.

"I'll inform Fiona I won't be in the tower today," he said, by way of agreement, and Cullen's smile broadened.

But then it dimmed for a moment, as he thought over their conversation. Especially the parts involving Ellana. He leaned in closer, catching Dorian's chin with his fingers, gently, and caressed it with his thumb. "You know that I would not allow anyone to harm you, Dorian," he said. "Especially the Inquisitor. She could make all the accusations she likes, but I would know the truth. I would know if you were deceiving us."

"Cullen-"

"I was fooled before, Dorian," Cullen pressed, adamantly. "I won't be fooled again. I would know if you were playing tricks on my mind. And I wouldn't be with you if I thought you were." He pressed a kiss to his lips. "I have no reason to fear you."

Doian exhaled. He really wanted to believe that. That Cullen wouldn't let Ellana come between them. That he wouldn't let the world accuse him of treachery. That Cullen wasn't afraid of him. But...

"It's not me I'm worried about, darling," he said.

"I know," Cullen nodded. "And you don't need to worry for me either." He released a dejected sort of sigh then, reluctant to part with him, but, "I have to get to the War Room. I'll see you in the garden?" Dorian nodded. But when Cullen rose to his feet, he pulled him back down, for one last kiss.

Then, slowly, regrettably, they parted, Cullen descending the ladder and donning his armor, strapping his sword at his hip, and swiping the stack of papers from his desk that needed to be delivered into the Spymaster and the Ambassador's care. Minutes later, Dorian left, through a different door than the one Cullen took. He then took the long route to the keep, needing the time to think.

Cullen absently worried his lip as he made his way to Josephine's office, then followed her to the War Room. Leliana was already inside, and both were just as clueless as to what to do that day as Cullen. "We've done everything we can," she told them. "There is nothing we can accomplish until out agents return from abroad."

"And no operations we can begin without the Inquisitor," Josephine added.

"So what are we to do then?" Cullen asked. The Ambassador shrugged.

"Other than entertaining our visiting supporters?...Take the day off?"

"Have we ever had one of those?" Cullen chuckled, and so did they.

"I've already relieved many of our workers of their duties today," said Leliana. "Many of us could use the time to relax. I'd say we've earned it."

"And we should take advantage of that while we can," Josephine remarked. Both Cullen and Leliana were in agreement on that.

"So what will you do?" he asked both women.

Leliana smirked. "I don't know about you, Josie, but I know what our Commander will be doing today."

"What's that?" Josephine grinned.

"Spending the day in bed with Dorian," she giggled.

Cullen gaped in shock.

"What?!"

She chuckled. "Oh come on, you didn't think we wouldn't figure it out eventually, did you?"

He looked back and forth between both women with their saccharine smiles.

"I-I'm not..." He flushed of color, and swallowed nervously. "I...How long have you known?"

"Oh, we've speculated for some time now that your late nights 'playing chess' in Dorian's quarters were, in fact, late nights playing _other_ games," Josephine informed him. "Why didn't you tell us sooner? This is so exciting! You and Dorian together! It's so positively adoring!"

"It is very cute," Leliana added. "The two of you make quite the pair. And will cause quite a stir, should Ellana find out about it."

"Very true, Lely. She'll be quite jealous. We all know she fancies you, Commander."

"And you rejected her, in favor of Dorian."

"I didn't–I'm not–" He sighed, "Oh nevermind," he grumbled. "So I take it you don't exactly disapprove?"

They shook their heads. "I'm simply surprised it took this long," said Leliana. "How did this happen between you two?"

"Yes, how did start?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to gossip about it...but if you _must_ know, do you remember the party in Val Chevin?"

Josephine gasped. "Did you really...?"

"Did something more happen that night?"

"Only...only that we...uhm...we kissed. That's–that's all that happened. It just sort of...went from there."

"I knew it!" Leliana exclaimed, jabbing a finger. "And I'm rarely ever wrong, am I, Josie?"

Cullen fidgeted. This was very uncomfortable. Strange. Definitely strange. And he was a bit nervous. They knew about his affair with Dorian? But...well, it wasn't so bad as he thought it would be. "How many others know about this?"

"Well, a few made their guesses," said Josephine.

"But no one's talking," Leliana assured. "I made certain of that," she added. "And Ellana will never suspect a thing. So go, have fun with Dorian, Commander."

"Yes, tell him we said congratulations to you both," Josephine told him, and he gaped at them. "Oh, but do tell us, Cullen, is everything well between you two? You had an argument yesterday afternoon. Is everything alright now?"

"We know you two were busy making up in your loft last night. What was the fight about?"

"Nothing," he clipped. "All–all is well." _I think,_ he added in his head.

He was in a daze the whole walk to the garden, but while he was in War Room, Dorian had also been discovering some truth about their shared secret. He found Fiona and informed her he'd be taking the day for himself, but was cornered by Giselle in his little nook on the second floor. He didn't notice her there at first, watching him, too busy perusing the bookshelf, contemplating his and Cullen's conversation in his loft.

"Messere Pavus?" she addressed, startling him. He groaned when he saw her.

"Oh what do you want?" he groused, and Giselle sighed.

She didn't understand why Dorian had to be so defensive around her. She truly meant no harm. She understood they were different, and had very different beliefs, but was that any reason for Dorian to scoff at her like he did? "I wished to speak to you about the Commander," she told him. "I'm to understand the two of you have become...rather close, these last few weeks. I was hoping I might-"

"Accuse me of corrupting our astute Commander, yes?" he assumed. Her shoulders slumped.

"No," she corrected, shaking her head. "I had only wondered if perhaps we might...talk. About your relationship with Cullen. I had some questions. If you would simply allow me to explain. Please, it will only take a moment of your time, Messere Pavus."

Dorian glared at her for a moment before glancing around. Maybe if he heard the woman out, she'd finally leave him alone and he could be on his way. Cullen was expecting him in the garden presently. "Make it quick," he relented, and she nodded, stepping closer.

"I know you and Cullen are having an affair," she said softly, and he squeezed his eyes shut at such a speculation, agitated. "Cullen is a decent man, Dorian. Troubled, but his heart is in the right place. He wishes only to help others. I had only hoped you were not taking advantage of that. If you truly care for him in return, or if you are merely toying with him...like the Inquisitor toyed with him. If you were sincere in your affections."

Dorian sighed. He could hear it in the woman's voice that she meant that. _Dammit, she really does mean well then, doesn't she?_ he thought. He turned away from her, replacing the book in his hand on the shelf. "I'm not using him, Mother," he said. "I...care very deeply for Cullen, I could never do such a thing to the man. We were friends first, before we were lovers. I have few of those at Skyhold."

"Yet, you keep your relationship a secret? Are you ashamed of your preference for other men?"

"No. I've _never_ been ashamed of that. But this is all very new for him. He's never been with a...with someone like me. I know the world will judge him for that. As it does me."

"And you are a mage from Tevinter," she added. "People will assume that..."

"That I've corrupted him, yes," he nodded.

"I understand. And I am glad that you are sincere. I do wish the both of you the best of luck. Perhaps one day the two of you can share your happiness. I see that he cares very much for you as well. Auvoir, and good day, Messere Pavus."

She walked away and Dorian's pulse quickened. If Giselle suspected they were sleeping together, how many others had caught on to it as well?...He was in knots over the whole thing on his way to the garden, and when he reached it, he found Cullen was already there, equally on edge over something, though he couldn't guess as to what. "I'm sorry I'm late, Commander. Giselle cornered me in the library...she knows."

"She...what?"

"She's knows...about us. She was concerned about me using you, as Ellana would have. I assured her otherwise. I can hardly believe it though. If _she_ suspects, how many others do?"

"Uh, well, about that," Cullen rubbed his neck, "Apparently Josephine and Leliana knew already as well." Dorian lifted a brow in surprise and Cullen absently nodded. "They were only angry I didn't clue them in on our secret sooner. They send their regards." He smirked a little. "And their congratulations...Our secret was never a secret, I suppose."

"Huh, suppose it wasn't, was it? Not common knowledge per say, but..."

But not a secret affair. Just...an affair. How interesting a development.

Cullen stepped closer. "So, shall we play a game of chess, Mister Pavus?"

Dorian chuckled a little in disbelief, but eventually nodded.

"Yes, we most certainly shall, Amatus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _Dorian found it rather attractive, the way Cullen affixed his dampened hair in place with his fingers, shirtless, and would absolutely love to see that every morning._   
> 
> 
> Me too, honey, me too ❤️ 


	23. Dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Dorian enjoy their afternoon together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was a little late again (It's 1:30 am here) So have some _angst free_ Cullrian.

The Spymaster's assumption that they would spend the _entire_ day in bed together was false. They didn't spend _all_ of their time in throes of passion...Only parts of it. Though they did spend a large portion of it in Dorian's quarters. They talked, mostly. Played chess, a few rounds of cards, shared more of their past. Discussed upcoming missions. Not _all_ of it was sex.

They did have to come up for air every once in a while, after all.

But they resigned themselves to Dorian's room at the other end of the keep for the majority of the afternoon, so that they would not be disturbed throughout by Inquisition agents flitting in and out on a constant to get to other parts of the keep. There, in Dorian's room, all was quiet and still, with only the sound of the fire crackling softly nearby, and Cullen humming pleasurably at the feel of Dorian's hands massaging his back.

Leliana knew where to find him, should things change, and the Commander was called to action. If for any reason he should be needed, she promised to notify him immediately. Though, oddly enough, it just so happened the Spymaster didn't need anything from him that afternoon. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Leliana was intentionally keeping agents occupied to grant them their reprieve.

If so, he thanked the Maker for Sister Leliana.

This was...odd, to say the least. To not be a secret, but just be... _private_. People knowing of their affair, but not necessarily being open with their affections. Dorian was mildly amused by it. But both men chose to put their troubles away for the remainder of their day off, and decided to instead simply bask in one another's company. Which was how Cullen ended up on his stomach with Dorian straddling him.

His hands were blessedly soft, massaging kinks in Cullen's spine he was never aware of even possessing until now. He paused in his ministrations to apply more of the soothing ointment he used, then started digging his thumbs into Cullen's lower back, to which he let out a deep sigh, followed by a groan, when he hit yet another pleasing spot just higher. "Maker's breath," he moaned, to which Dorian grinned satisfactorally.

He truly didn't deserve such treatment, much less did he know what he did to warrant it, but as Dorian practically twisted his arm about it until he finally gave in, and this was simply what Dorian wanted to do that afternoon, he would not complain. Quite happy to indulge the mage actually, as his masterful hands, that had worked Cullen over on many an occasion, truly outdid themselves in their ability to please him.

"Have you given much thought to fixing your loft?" Dorian asked suddenly, out of nowhere, and Cullen grunted.

"I have," he mumbled into the pillow. "The builders have too many projects–Ahh!" Dorian found an even _better_ area to massage, "Mnh, projects to focus on, at the moment," he answered. "More important than fixing the hole in my roof."

"Ah, I see, so what you're saying is," Dorian dug his palms into the Commander's tensed muscles, producing another moan, "The needs of the Inquisition's very important Commander are only secondary then?"

"Mmmh," was Cullen's incoherant reply. "Those materials are costly, and better used for reinforcing the keep in the event of an attack–Mph! Maker, that feels good!"

"And in the meantime you're forced to freeze every night?"

"I don't mind so much."

"Well, you know I happen to mind, thank you very much."

Cullen blinked his eyes open.

Dorian was driving at something again. He could hear it in his voice, his suggestive tone, that there was a point to bringing up the subject of Cullen's neglected living space. He didn't approve of it, of course. And recommended refurbishing. With the way he was touching Cullen right now, the Commander was likely to agree to _anything_ he suggested, but sighed a little in thought of it. "You want me to fix my quarters, don't you?"

"I would strongly suggest so, yes," he answered, reaching up to rub between his shoulder blades, and once more Cullen melted into the mattress, sighing in relief. "I understand other matters must take precedence, and take up much of your time, but you should be taking better care of yourself, Amatus, and not reduce yourself to such state of disarray. The Commander of the Inquisition deserves far better."

Cullen would beg to differ, but neglected to comment.

"It serves its purpose well enough," he defended.

There was a moment of silent contemplation before he heard, "It could use a little improvement," from Dorian, and he sighed again, then shifted, rolling over beneath the mage to lie flat on his back. "What are you doing? I wasn't finished yet."

Cullen reclined with his arms behind his head and gazed up at Dorian in curiosity. "You want to stay with me, don't you?" he asked, cutting right to the heart of the matter, and Dorian chewed his lip a little, contritely.

"On occasion, yes," he answered. "The location is terribly convenient," he mused. "It's closer to the mages' tower, to the Undercroft, no further from the training yard. Of course, a few minor adjustments would have to be made to the space before it's livible. New roof obviously, a furnace, maybe chair. A door over the hatch for privacy, and maybe a certain pesky little elf that has no sense of propriety might finally learn some boundaries."

Cullen snorted. "Which one? Sera?...Or the _Inquisitor_?"

"Take your pick, darling," he said.

"I don't mind Sera so much," Cullen remarked with a shrug. "A little annoying at times, perhaps, but, her pranks are harmless, really. And she reminds of my sister when we were little."

"If only she would acquire some sense of style," Dorian commented. "And that hair. Kaffas! I think she cuts it with a dagger. How crude."

Cullen chuckled at that. "I'm certain even installing a door made of stormheart with _twenty_ locks wouldn't keep that girl out of my quarters," he said.

Dorian smirked. "Hmm, you might be right," he agreed. "We could put in a window," he then added carefully. "In case it gets too...stifling, maybe."

"You're serious about this," Cullen guessed, and Dorian bit his lip. "But...wouldn't you be aggrevated by all the soldiers passing through at all hours of the day?"

"You could lock the doors to your office for a change," he said.

"And block off the access?"

"Maybe it will teach people better manners, darling. They'll finally learn how to knock instead of so rudely barging in like they do now."

"Hmph," Cullen huffed, somewhat liking that idea. Maker if it wasn't irritating that no one knocked, as if they forgot that tower was even occupied, let alone Cullen's work space as well as private living space. He thought it over, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. He also really liked the idea of Dorian staying with him, if he was truly considering it. Having him in his loft the night before was easily the best night Cullen had ever spent there.

It felt so good to wake to Dorian in his arms, the scent of him everywhere. The sight of him, unguarded, unprecidented. The feel of his touch, the sound of his voice. The way he comforted Cullen with his presence. He may not ever be rid of his nightmares, but he got more rest that night than ever. And was happier to start his day. Though, truthfully, if he woke to Dorian every morning, he'd never want to leave his side.

"So what do you think?" Dorian asked, brow aloft, pulling Cullen from his musings, and he scratched his head in thought of it.

"Wouldn't you rather I stay here with you?" he asked, still unsure if this was truly something Dorian was considering. Their affair would certainly be more public if Dorian were to stay above Cullen's office. Eventually people would notice the inconsistancies, and surely notice Dorian coming out of his loft early in the morning, rather than through the door. People like Ellana. "You certainly like keeping me in your bed," he said.

Dorian smirked, cat-like, then stretched out on top of him, nipping at Cullen's lip before saying, "My dear Commander, I'd keep you here with me all hours of the day and night if we didn't have an Inquisition to serve."

"Mmm, I wouldn't complain," Cullen told him, allowing Dorian to sweep him into a kiss. His arms went around him, pulling him as close as possible.

It was never close enough.

"I would keep you here, Amatus," Dorian said when he pulled away, "But then you would be waking in the middle of the night to tarry back to your office before sunrise. If we were in your quarters, why, you'd already be there. And all your men wouldn't have to rush around the battlements, clambering about like headless chickens, clanking their helmets together in a frantic search to find you."

"Point well made," Cullen relented with a laugh, picturing that image. "So...you would really stay with me, if I were to fix up my quarters?"

"I just might, yes," he said, but Cullen could take that as a definite _yes_.

He broke into a wide grin.

To which Dorian couldn't help but smile, seeing Cullen's happiness. Maker, but if he didn't want this to work between them. For it to always be like this. This feeling. Contentment, he was certain it was called. A rare feeling for the mage. Even rarer to feel so elated like he was at this very moment. He sat up, causing Cullen to pout slightly. "Roll over, darling," he requested. "Let me finish the job."

Cullen did as he asked, and turned back over onto his stomach so that Dorian could tend to him some more. He liked this too. Soothing all the little aches. He may not be able to stop Cullen's nightmares, might never stop them from keeping him up at night. And he may not be able to stop the world from turning, the Inquisition from running, nor could he singlehandedly hand over Corypheus on a silver platter...

He'd yet to so much as remove the Lyrium tearing him up inside, but...

This was one wound he could bandage.

One problem he could solve.

He coaxed out all the delightful little moans and sighs from Cullen he could muster, until the Commander was no longer only soothed by his actions, but starting to get hard, and he wasn't the only one. Very soon this would turn into something more, and Dorian was rather looking forward to it. Eventually Cullen rolled over again, pulling the mage to him for a heated kiss. "I gather someone wants this to lead to something more?" Dorian murmered.

Cullen nodded. "And evidently I'm not the only one," he said, and reached down to palm Dorian's erection. Oh, this would most certainly lead to something more. And he knew precisely how he desired it to play out. Cullen's touch became increasingly adamant, thus causing Dorian to steadily become more and more desperate for that bottle of oil in the nightstand. He reached for it, upsetting items set atop, as he wrenched open the drawer.

Both quickly undressed, then Dorian resumed his position, straddling Cullen, who sat up a little higher, arranging the pillows comfortably behind him. Amber eyes fully dilated, black and heavy lidded with lust, cheeks a healthy pink, forehead already sporting a light sheen of sweat as the room was blistering hot, and they'd yet to even begin. He'd be emaciated by the time they were through with one another. Dorian would see to that.

He doused oil in his hand, then took his time applying it, captivated by the expression on his handsome face, and relishing in the various sounds he made as Dorian slicked his cock, then slowly sunk down on it. It was truly breathtaking, the sight of him completely at Dorian's mercy. He gripped him tightly, all but refusing to move without Dorian's expressed permission, but rather impatient. Certainly eager.

He slowly picked up pace, and admittedly Cullen found this rather thrilling, to have Dorian above him like this, in total control, so he relinquished that control rather easily. To be dominated by the mage, as he pinned him in place on the mattress and so eloquently rode him. He couldn't bring himself to move and instead simply enjoyed the feel of Dorian having his way with him as he pleased. Eventually riding him harder and faster.

It didn't take either man very long at all to find release, and both were a sweat soaked mess by the end of it, kicking away Dorian's sheets, gasping for air. Dorian pulling Cullen close and clinging to him tightly, tangling his fingers in the mess of golden curls that had begun to appear in Cullen's mussed up hair. Dorian hadn't a care how the man decided to fix his hair, but he would be lying if he didn't say those curls were rather adoring.

Especially with what caused their appearance. Mind-blowing sex. Both slowly regained their senses, and their ability to properly breathe, when Cullen's stomach started to growl. Dorian glanced at the darkened window and realized how late it was getting, that supper had like already been had, and they missed it. He was hungry too. Perhaps a trip to the kitchens was in order. "Are you hungry, darling?" he asked, and Cullen nodded.

"Food then?" he suggested, and Dorian nodded.

So they dressed, affixing their attire properly, Dorian running fingers through Cullen's hair to smooth it in place, then leaning in for a kiss. They crept through the guests' tower quietly, then headed to the keep through the deserted garden. When they entered the main hall, they found it to be empty as well, save for Varric still in his corner, and a few servants cleaning up the tables, carrying trays to the kitchens.

"Where've you two been all day?" the storyteller asked when he spotted them.

"Chess," they chimed, and Varric cocked his head, eyeing them suspiciously as they passed.

"Really? So who won?" he asked.

Cullen had already passed through the door, but Dorian hung back to say, "I won of course," with a smirk, and Varric shook his head at him.

In the dwarf's opinion, both looked just a little too flustered to have only been playing chess, but he was _not_ about to ask questions he really didn't want to know the answer to.

They passed by Solas asleep on the couch, one arm hanging off, a book splayed open on his chest. Mouth gaping open. If the elf only knew how ridiculous he looked when he slept, he might find a more private place to do it. They passed him by completely and headed into the lower parts of the keep, to the kitchens, following the group of servants ahead of them with trays. Inside was a mirror opposite to the traquility of the main hall.

Down there, people bustled about, cleaning up and preparing for the following day, Cook barking orders, issuing everyone about, shaking a wooden spoon. Once Cook spotted Dorian however, the barking shifted to outrage. "Oh no you don't!" Cook spat. "You get out of this kitchen right now, young man! I'll not have you in here leavin' a mess for me and mine to clean up after! Not again!"

Cullen raised a brow at Cook's antics, watching Dorian gaffaw, flailing his arms in exasperation. "The Inquisition's Commander missed dinner!" he argued.

"And just who's fault is that, eh?" Cook asked. "Because it's not mine, I'll tell you that."

Cullen proceeded to quietly and gingerly sit in one of the nearby chairs, watching tonight's entertainment, Dorian and Cook arguing with one another while the pages flitted about. The two bickered like an old married couple, and all the while Cook complained, Dorian kept on with his task, Cook eventually helping, and the both of them pulling out ingredients and preparing them. A page poured Cullen a cup of wine, and set it before him.

"Here you are, sir."

"Thank you...Do they do this often?"

"Oh all the time," she chuckled. "Fight like cats and dogs, those two, every time Master Pavus comes in here, stirring up trouble. But Cook doesn't mind. If she didn't like him, she wouldn't have told him where she hides the _crème brûlée_."

Cullen chuckled at that. And was eventually clued in on conversation. Dorian was so different in the kitchen. Still haughty, of course, but also somewhat bubbly, he supposed was the word for him. All his movements were excited. For a moment, he pictured a young, enthusiastic Dorian pestering the servants of his father's home, or perhaps a slightly older Dorian, sneaking off to the kitchens with Felix when he studied magic with Alexius.

He was just so... _natural_ here. Not really demeaning in any way, and his eyes lit up like candles. His smile was infectious, and Cullen couldn't help but trip over himself whenever he saw it. He skillfully diced vegetables, making something he said was called _caponata_ , yet another Tevinter dish of which Cook had to scoff at, making smart remarks about Imperium food, but Dorian only rolled his eyes and carried on.

Eventually the servants finished their nightly task, and after Cullen promising to see that Dorian cleaned up the mess he made this time, Cook left out as well, and it was only the two of them in the kitchen, to enjoy the delicious food he'd prepared for them, over a bottle of red wine. They ate, and talked, much like the night they had dinner in the Commander's office. Both were reluctant to retire.

"Stay with me tonight," Dorian requested, reaching across the table for Cullen's hand, when their meal was digested. Cullen worried his lip.

"The whole night, you mean?" he questioned, and Dorian nodded.

"I'm sure your Spymaster will come find you if she needs you, yes?"

"Well, of course."

"So you'll stay with me then?"

There was a brilliance in Dorian's hazel eyes that Cullen simply melted at. How could he possibly say no to that face? He smirked, shaking his head a little.

"Of course I will," he said, and Dorian smiled. "I'll tell the advisers where I'll be."

"Oh I'm quite sure they'll have their comments to make about that," Dorian told him, and he chuckled a little.

"I'd be worried for them if they didn't."

He found Josephine in her office and informed the Ambassador he'd be 'playing chess' with Dorian, to which she snickered. "Shall I send a page to collect you in the morning, Commander?" she asked him, and he thought about that.

"I'm quite certain I can find my way back to my office on my own," he said, and she nodded. But she was grinning from ear to ear.

"If you don't mind my asking of something personal, Commander?"

"Yes?"

She glanced around as if someone were there that might hear them, though they were the only two in the room. Rather bashfully, she asked, "What's he like?...You know, as a lover? I'm curious."

Cullen rolled his eyes. He could see that question coming. He took a breath, then said, suavely, "Worth being jealous of me over," to which she giggled.

"You tease," she said. "My word, Commander, I didn't know you had it in you. I must say I'm impressed. Keep that coyness when we attend the ball in Hilamshiral. Celene's supporters will love it."

He snorted. "I bet they would. Goodnight, Josephine."

"Goodnight, Cullen," she smiled.

With a jolt of something brimming inside he left her office. It was an interesting feeling. Just this sense of normalcy. Acceptance. He liked that feeling, and found himself smiling all the way to Dorian's room in the guest tower. He was already there, sweeping him into the most incredible kiss yet, swooning him, making him weak in the knees, when he pulled him inside. Indeed, there was much to be jealous of. Dorian was never lack-luster.

"I'm not so sure I have the energy yet for another round," he told Dorian when he pulled away, who chuckled.

"I didn't think you would," he said, and started to undress, hanging his clothing neatly on the chair. Cullen watched him as he unbuckled his belt and undressed. "But there's no reason we can't just lay in bed, is there? Sleep, perhaps? That's what people do in a relationship, yes? Simply go to bed with one another to sleep?"

"I...wouldn't know," Cullen told him, heart racing a little at the word 'relationship'. "I've never been in one before."

"Never?" Dorian repeated, turning to face him. Cullen shook his head. "Hmm, neither have I," he said then. "I suppose that's an area in which we both sorely lack the knowledge then." He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Cullen's neck, the Commander instinctively resting his hands at his sides. "But...that _is_ what this is, is it not?" he asked, unsure of the answer, absently twirling Cullen's hair. "A...relationship?"

"I would say it is, yes," he nodded a little, and so did Dorian. Though he still seemed... _hesitant_ , for some reason. Yet another small glimpse of that hidden insecurity rose to the surface for a split second. He swallowed.

"We are friends, of course, but...we _are_ more than that as well? Aren't we?"

"We are," Cullen told him, and once again he nodded a little. Then he bit his lip.

"And we don't want to share one another, do we? We want to be selfish, yes?"

Cullen smiled. "Very selfish."

Dorian grinned. "I'd say we are then." He pecked Cullen on the lips, then pulled him into bed. He snapped his fingers and the fire crackled nearby. Then he blew the candles out. Came to rest beside Cullen, pressed tightly to him. They lay there, holding one another, whispering together in the dark. Dorian twirling Cullen's hair, and the Commander tracing circles in his back. Eventually they fell silent, but only for a time.

"You know I won't castrate you should you choose to call me something other than my name," Dorian mumbled, and Cullen snorted, breaking into a snicker, but hesitated to respond to that. "Pet names are perfectly acceptable, and appropriate, given the circumstances."

Yes, but all Cullen could think of were things like, 'My Love', 'My Heart', 'My Life', 'My World', or some variation of those titles.

"You _are_ very dear to me," Cullen conceded.

"Your _dearest_ , perhaps?"

Cullen chuckled. "Perhaps." He pressed his lips to Dorian's hair, kissing the top of his head, then felt Dorian kiss his chest.

They fell asleep just like that, entangled in one another, but as nights usually went for Cullen, eventually he woke from another nightmare, gasping for air. It took him a minute to remember he was with Dorian, who lightly touched his arm. He flinched a little at the touch, but quickly realized who was touching him, and hurriedly pulled him close. Dorian asked if he was alright, if he wanted to talk about it.

"No," he said. "I'd rather forget. Maker, I just want to forget."

"I'm sorry, darling."

"It's quite alright. Much better now." He hugged him closer. Remembered the pet name he'd comprised. "I have you, dearest."

Dorian's heart pounded.

When they woke again, it was slow and gradual. Cullen was quite used to rising early, and so he opened his eyes as the first rays of light were poking through the window. Dorian was stirring, however, mumbling sleepily about the hour, begging Cullen to come back to bed. It was then, as Cullen was sitting up, that they both heard it. In the distance, a horn blew, and Dorian bolted upright. They were not being attacked, but a visitor had arrived.

They shared a worried glance.

That could only mean one thing.

The Inquisitor had returned.

"Well, there goes all our fun," Dorian mumbled.

Indeed, it seemed their revelry was over.

Cullen sighed dejectedly at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crap, guess the Honeymoon's over, huh? *Flails*
> 
> Believe it or not it took the entirety of writing this fic to come up with Cullen's endearment for Dorian. He's not really an endearment person, I'm told. And neither have I heard any such nicknames in the game so...I came up with Dearest. I can hear him saying that in my head and I swoon 😍


	24. Ironically Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor is back, and with a vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if I have not said this before, keep in mind that my portrayal of Ellana does not mean I hate the Dalish. Nor should she be considered a blanket representation of Dalish in this fic. She's just an asshole.

The horn blew loudly that morning, signaling the arrival of the Inquisitor's party, and through the open gate she trotted atop a red bridled hart, ahead of her companions. Bull and Blackwall were not far behind on their armored steeds, however, both overly anxious to unsaddle and get away from her. A strong drink at the Rest was certainly in order. She'd been in an overly righteous mood since the minute they left for Emprise weeks ago.

But Ellana couldn't have a care for what mood anyone else was in. She was cold, tired, sore, and in dire need of a hot bath and her wonderously soft Orlesian bed with its satin sheets and velvet throw. Nice warm fire, chocolate covered cherries, and lots and lots of Antivan whiskey. After the time she spent away, she'd say she deserved such pampering. Then? To see the Commander and perhaps try one more time to woo him into bed.

She'd tried and failed to stop thinking about him while she was away. She couldn't get that kiss out of her head. It was horrible, but it wasn't nearly as bad as some kisses she'd shared with elven men of her People. And she could tell Cullen was into it. How could he not be? Damn that Dorian Pavus for making him keep his distance from her! But, at any rate, she wasn't attracted to any other man at Skyhold, except Cullen.

And she desperately needed to get laid. She'd been stuck with Bull and Blackwall all these weeks, and she certainly wasn't attracted to either one of them, which meant she'd had to suffer all the troubles of the world while being miserably wound up. So if she were going to get laid, she supposed she'd just have to try once again with Cullen. If he wanted more than sex, fine then. She'd do all those things shemlen did, like dinner and whatnot.

She didn't understand why people had to be so prissy about romantic things. So finicky. It was like all these shems and flat-ears just couldn't make up their minds what they wanted. Sex was sex, with or without dinner and dancing, right? But if that's what Cullen wanted, was a relationship with all those things, that's what she'd give him. She could always break things off later. He'd get over it eventually.

The Warden and the mercenary watched her with keen eye as she deposited her mount at the stables, leaving the hart in Dennet's care, then slowly unmounted and untacked their horses. "Why do I get this feelin' that someone's got it comin' to 'em?" Blackwall asked the Iron Bull, who was shaking his head at the Inquisitor as she marched off, headed across the bailey, then up the steps to the Keep.

"Because they probably do," was Bull's reply, making Blackwall snort.

"Just glad it's not either one of us for a change."

"Heh, for once," Bull added, in agreement of the notion, then the two left the stables, both headed up to the Herald's Rest.

But while Ellana was making her way to her spacious, vaulted room, with all its antiquities, Dorian was rushing through his morning routine, in a rancid mood that he was up far too early for his liking. Features pinched in a scowl, he stood shirtless before the vanity, shaving his face while Cullen donned his armor with a sigh. "Just go back to bed," he said, to which Dorian harumphed, wiping his razor blade.

"I'll never go back to sleep now," he complained. "And I just _know_ she'll stir up trouble somehow. I can feel it!"

"You can't be serious," Cullen laughed, throwing his arms up. "Suddenly you're a Seer now, is it?"

"Call it a mage's intuition, darling. But I just _know_ something's going to happen today. I'd rather be prepared for it."

Cullen folded his arms and regarded Dorian's reflection in the mirror as he resumed his task with a disturbingly still hand.

" _Dearest_ ," he attempted to persuade with, but Dorian only narrowed his eyes. Just because his heart did a little flutter when he heard that, did not mean he would cave so easily. He was a self-proclaimed perfector of impenetrable resolve. Otherwise, how would he have withstood demons in the Fade all his magical years? He knew what Cullen would say and huffed again, then paused in his shaving.

"Don't tell me I'm just being paranoid," Dorian snipped, and Cullen was flabbergasted at that. He wasn't going to say _paranoid_ , but..."Just go, Amatus, and I'll see you at breakfast."

Cullen sighed. "Alright," he reluctantly agreed, coming over to kiss Dorian's shoulder, as his face was covered in cream. "I'll see you later," he murmured, then quietly left the room, and Dorian to sigh.

Maybe Cullen was right. Maybe he was worrying over nothing. As Cullen had mentioned the night before in bed, the other advisers suspected Ellana would be jealous should she learn about their relationship, and make things diffcult for them both. So neither of them were talking. He could guess she'd at least make it hard for them to spend any alone time together, that he knew for certain. Now that she'd returned, work would commence.

The advisers would begin preparations for upcoming missions, and Cullen would be flooded with reports. With Ellana popping up in his office like a demented coo-coo clock, his stress level would shoot right through the hole in his roof. It was bound to be aggravating, regardless if Ellana intentionally caused mayhem or not. It followed her like a dark cloud, all around Skyhold, making Sera's upsets look like a stroll in the garden.

Of course, en route to his office, Cullen was agonizing over the very same thoughts. What if Dorian was right? What if Ellana stirred up trouble? It was all he could do to remain calm and not dwell on it. Dwelling on the issue would solve absolutely nothing at all. So he tried to focus on freshening up, fixing his hair, so he didn't look quite so much like a corpse, then filling his empty stomach in the Great Hall.

Cullen and Dorian weren't the only ones apprehensive about the Inquisitor's return, however. Nearly everyone in the Great Hall appeared on edge that morning. "Has she come out yet?" Dorian asked quietly when he finally arrived, and seated himself next to Cullen at the table. He shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. "Hmm, maybe we'll get lucky. She was gone quite a while. Maybe won't come downstairs for another _day_ or two."

Cullen could only sigh. "It'll be fine," he tried to reassure, but Dorian only clucked in response.

And the Commander spoke too soon, anyhow.

Not minutes later, the Inquisitor, freshly bathed and put together–in a rather revealing outfit that exposed far more of her bodice than truly necessary–came into the hall from her quarters above, sporting a smile, and to Cullen's dismay, coming to occupy the empty seat directly across from him. "Hello, everyone!" she chirped, to which most grumbled a sleepy response to the greeting. "Morning, Commander," she smiled sweetly.

"Morning," he said tightly, tipping his cup in salute, then hiding his scowl behind it.

Things were quiet at first, Ellana picking at her plate and glancing around as everyone ate, until her eyes rested on Dorian, who sat back in his seat, one leg folded over the other, cup of coffee raised halfway to his mouth. Her eyes narrowed at him, and flicked to his plate. "This must be new for you, Dorian," she said loudly. "Having to feed yourself for a change when you're used to _slaves_ doing everything for you."

Forks clinked on their plates when others at the table overheard. Voices stopped murmuring, and heads turned to glance between the two of them. Dorian took a deep breath through his nose and smiled, though it didn't touch his eyes. He just _knew_ she would start trouble. He glanced at Cullen, who was eyeing her in disbelief, then said, "Oh of course, it's just dreadful, Inquisitor. I can't possibly function without painted elves groveling at my feet."

Ellana choked on her drink. Then gaped at him, as if she were so shocked. As did everyone else at the table. Especially Cassandra, who sat on the other side of Varric and leaned over the table to glance between them. "Dorian, my dear?" Vivienne piped up from Cullen's other side. "Does the Pavus family actually own slaves, I wonder? Or are you merely pulling the poor Inquisitor's leg again, perhaps?"

Dammit. "Well, yes, there were indentured servants in my family's home," he answered honestly. Oh, there was no doubt everyone at the table was exceedingly uncomfortable at this topic of conversation. "All were treated quite well, of course," he added, all without his eyes leaving Ellana's. "Regarded much the same as the pages here at Skyhold, in fact. Though, unfortunately I was very young at the time, and rather naïve.

For all I knew there might've been much more going on where I wasn't looking. And being a child meant I only knew of what my eyes could see." He continued to sip his coffee while everyone contemplated that shared bit of information. Wondering who might pipe up next. If he wasn't mistaken, the hall had fallen completely silent by this point, and Dorian's heart was hammering, but yet he smiled right through it, bitterly.

What more could he do? Dare he defend customs of his homeland to these people? This southern realm that regarded such as a travesty? People who scoffed at his cooking as if it were poisoned? "But your family did own slaves then, is it?" Ellana asked. "People who were beaten, tortured, kidnapped from their beds, crammed into crates, shipped off to Tevinter to work for nothing? To have no rights? No freedoms?"

"I do believe you're confusing the Pavus family for those miserable cretins that sail up and down the Free Marches border, Inquisitor," he said.

"Oh really? Then how come you never did anything about it, hmm? Never tried to help anyone? Do away with slavery? Let those innocent people go? Tear down your corrupt system?"

"Is it really that simple?"

"Why shouldn't it be?"

There was a moment of silence at the table as Dorian prepared to elegantly debate the issue of slavery as he'd so done before, many times, perfectly content to have a civil conversation that morning, but Maker bless him, Varric put in his two sovereigns just then, before Dorian could open his mouth. Rather cunning how he did so, actually. Without even meaning to, he shut down the argument with, "I met a guy once that thought like that."

"Who, pray tell?" Vivienne asked.

"A mage named Anders."

"Ah, now which one was he? Was he the one with the Lyrium tattoos?"

It was Cullen who answered, with almost a monotone, saying, "Anders was the follower of the 'Champion' that blew up the Chantry, an act of devastation that killed hundreds in the fallout, sparking a rebellion that killed hundreds more, that lead to the Mage-Templar war that killed thousands...that led to the destruction of the Conclave that affected millions." Then he sipped his coffee.

"What he said," Varric mumbled.

"What happened to Anders?" Ellana asked.

"He's dead," Varric sighed. "Hawke killed him."

"Oh."

Once more there was awkward silence. Until Cassandra spoke up, in attempt to alleviate the tension saying, "I believe the point Varric meant to make is that while Anders may have had good intentions behind his deeds, a wish to liberate oppressed mages everywhere, his actions had consequences." She glanced at Varric, and none at the table could mistake the parallels to Varric's own actions. "He might've meant well, but many paid the price."

"That's not to say he didn't suceed," Cullen spoke up. "He did affect change. Eventually. But obviously it takes more than one person, working together, to affect that change positively. I'm certain that Dorian intends to do so for Tevinter."

Dorian swallowed. "Indeed," he agreed. "And I would, were it that simple. But obviously it isn't so simple as walking up to the Senate and making a declaration."

"Nothing is _ever_ that simple, my dear," Vivienne agreed.

"The sad truth is that the Inquisitor is right," he added. "There are many in Tevinter that are oppressed. There are laws that are meant to be followed that are put in place to protect the working class from abuses, but obviously not everyone wants to follow those policies. Not everyone wants to play fair. Evident by the increasing number in power hungry madmen bent on serving a darkspawn with aspirations of godhood."

All were silent after that, but Dorian and Cullen both knew this wasn't over.

In fact, Ellana had only just begun.

She'd successfully ruined Dorian's morning, now it was Cullen's turn.

She was on her best behavior during the war meeting that morning, disclosed information she'd gathered in Emprise Du Lion and the Exalted Plains, discussing future operations, but she often let her eyes linger on Cullen during the meeting. Undressing him with her eyes. She was still very interested in him, it seemed, and would probably make a second attempt to sink her claws into him, as far as Josephine and Leliana observed.

But she behaved herself, at least until the meeting was over. After that, she tarried off somewhere unseen, allowing Cullen a moment's reprieve, but just after he'd returned to his office, breathed a sigh, and set to task, the door burst open with a bang, nearly falling off its hinges as it swung open so fast. "Hello there, handsome," Ellana purred with a sickly sweet smile plastered on her face, and Cullen frowned.

"Inquisitor," he curtly addressed. "What can I do for you?"

She stepped around the desk, to which he balked a little, straightening his stance. "I was wondering if we could spend some time together this afternoon," she said. "Maybe lunch together in the garden?"

"I...already have plans," he answered, then returned his focus to the report in his hand. "Maybe some other time."

"You have plans?" she repeated slowly. "With who?"

"Dorian," he answered plainly. She scoffed.

"Creators, I don't even understand how the two of you can be friends. You're so different."

"True that we have our differences," he said. "But we have many likenesses as well."

"Hmph," she huffed, but then stepped closer, invading Cullen's personal space, putting her hand over the report in Cullen's hand and pushing it down. "I couldn't stop thinking about that kiss we shared," she said, her tone dropping suggestively. "I thought perhaps...maybe you still thought of it too?"

"Inquisitor-"

"Look, Cullen, I thought about what you said," she was quick to interrupt. She moved to sit on his desk, upsetting the items set atop, to his extreme irritation, and he flexed his jaw. "You said you wanted more than just casual sex." That was _not_ what he said at all. "And I got to thinking that maybe I'd like more too. So I was thinking maybe when you have the time, you and I could-"

"I'm not interested," he quickly shut her down with, but it only made her pout.

"Oh come on," she whined. "I thought you wanted-"

"Inquisitor," he sighed, setting down the report and folding his arms. "I must apologize if I mislead you in any way, but I'm truly not interested in anything, let alone a relationship with you. I'm not attracted to you."

She gaped at that. "It really _is_ because I'm an elf, isn't it?" she gasped, appalled at his rejection.

"It has nothing to do with that."

"Oh really?! What it is then? I'm not good enough for you? I'm not pretty enough-"

"I'm taken," he clipped, putting an end to the matter once and for all. "Happily so, by a kind, understanding individual who is well aware of my decision to stop taking Lyrium and _supports_ it. Who doesn't only toy with my affections like a dwarven puzzle box. I had hoped to let you down easy, but obviously somehow I failed to get my point across entirely. I'm no longer interested, and I would appreciate if you would remove yourself from my workspace, Your Worship. This is highly inappropriate behavior."

She huffed. "I'm your _Inquisitor_!" she squeaked, hardly believing he would speak to her like that.

"Precisely. You are the Inquisitor of Thedas. Which means you should behave like a respectable adult, not a harlot, Your Worship. As your Commander, I would strongly advise you do so."

Ellana gaped at him. Shocked, really. Cullen was always so much of a spineless pushover, she didn't expect him to dismiss her like this. _I bet Dorian has something to do with it,_ she thought, balling her hands into fists.

"Fine," she huffed, jumping up from the desk. "But whoever she is, I bet I could satisfy you a lot more than her. Whoever she is, I bet she wouldn't be willing to do _half_ the things I would be willing to do. Your loss, Commander. Hope she's worth it."

She stomped out of his office, slamming the door shut.

"He," Cullen corrected quietly with a sigh. "And you couldn't hold a candle to him."

While Ellana was busy propositioning the Commander in his office, Dorian was fretting in the library. Nervously twirling his ring around his finger, muttering under his breath. He was still doing so when Ellana crossed the bridge from Cullen's office leading to the tower. He did so when she entered the foyer and bounded up the steps, then flopped down in his chair with a huff, swinging her legs over the armrest.

"Inquisitor," he clipped in agitation.

"I know what you did," she hissed immediately, and he turned to face her, eyeing her in confusion. "I know you were the one to put all that lark in Cullen's head, and now he won't sleep with me. And I know just why you did it too."

"What lark, exactly?" he questioned.

"You told him all I wanted from him was sex," she huffed, puffing her bangs from her face with her breath, causing her hair to flutter momentarily. "And now he won't have anything to do with me at all. You convinced him to break up with me! And now he says he's taken. He's found some other tart instead."

 _As opposed to this one,_ Dorian thought ruefully.

"My dear, I only told the man the truth, that you would not want a relationship with him. As for his rejection, that was simply the choice the Commander made. Why though, I wonder?"

"Yeah, right, sure," she deadpanned. "As if you're not _jealous_ that I could have him and you couldn't. You're a man, and Cullen isn't interested in other men. Would never give you the time of day. So because you couldn't have him, you thought to ruin things for me."

Dorian rolled his eyes. Oh if only she knew the truth of the matter.

"I have better tact than _that_ , Ellana," he huffed, particularly short tempered at the moment, and slowly losing all manner of it presently. "Unlike you, I genuinely care for the man. I care very deeply for Cullen. You think for one second I would allow you to use him like that?"

"Of course you wouldn't," she said. "Because you can't have him yourself."

Dorian took a breath, and was about to form a witty reply when he just sort of...had an epiphany instead. _Maker's breath, why am I arguing with this woman?_

"True, I _was_ jealous of you," he said instead, and she smiled. " _Was_ , of course. But...well, you see, I _have_. So..." He shrugged.

She stopped smiling and stared in bewilderment. "Have what?"

"Have slept with him, my dear," he sang sweetly. "Practically every night since you left Skyhold."

He turned back to the books on the shelf, busying his hands with perusing the volumes, heart racing, expecting an outrage. Of course, that wasn't what he recieved.

She _laughed_.

Laughed hysterically, as if the idea were so absurd.

"As if!" she exclaimed, cackling. "If you're trying to make me jealous, Pavus, you're miserably failing. Cullen likes _women_. You don't have a shot in the dark with him. Not in a million years. You know, I can't even be mad at you anymore. That, Dorian, I would say, is a justice of its own." She got up from his chair, skipping down the hall. "Keep dreaming, though!" she called, then bounded down the steps.

"Vishante kaffas!" he gaped, perplexingly. "Did...did she really just _laugh_ at me?"

In an outrage, he quickly left the tower, and marched across the bridge to Cullen's office, broiling mad. he knocked sharply on the door, causing Cullen's head to pop up from where he sank in his chair and propped his head with his hand. "It's open," he called, then lifted a brow at how angrily Dorian burst into the room, though he didn't slam the door. "Oh no, what happened?" he asked, knowing Dorian was about to rant about something.

"You will _never_ guess what just happened to me!' he proclaimed.

"Well, not if you don't tell me, no," Cullen told him, and he huffed at his candor.

"I told her!" he shrilled. "I told her, and you know what she did?! She laughed! Laughed, I tell you! In my face! She didn't even believe me!"

Cullen gaped, mouth hanging open for a moment, while Dorian stood there panting, out of breath, partly from the rush to get to Cullen's office, then his outrage just now.

Then, suddenly, he laughed too.

"Why are you laughing, Amatus?" Dorian demanded.

That only made Cullen laugh harder, doubleing over in his chair, hiding his reddened teary eyed face behind his gloved hands. "Andraste preserve me," he cursed.

But Dorian was still angry, doubly so at Cullen's hysterics. He got up from the desk and slowly made his way around it, trying, but failing to keep from cracking up. Especially at Dorian's clueless expression. He came to stand before him, cupping his face in his hands. "Think about it, dearest," he managed to say. "All this worrying we've been doing over Ellana finding out about us...and she didn't even believe you when you told her. Rather ironic, isn't it?"

"There's a point you're making, I'm sure," Dorian grumbled.

Cullen nodded. "Point is: what was all the fuss?"

Dorian thought about that.

Then he scowled. "Well, now I just feel foolish."

Cullen laughed again. Then he kissed him, all over his beautiful face, making Dorian fidget.

"Oh will you stop that, Amatus?" he groused, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "You're a man, not a mabari!"

But Cullen only grinned. "Will you just shut up and let me kiss you?" he asked.

"Someone will walk in on this, you know," Dorian reminded.

"That's what makes it fun, remember?" Cullen told him, with a mischievous grin, then shut him up with yet another kiss, before he could reply.

With a sigh, Dorian finally gave in, shut up, and kissed him back.

Indeed it was a lot of fun.

Stupid…but fun.

And, ironically enough, no one barged in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, Ellana's just a slut, isn't she?
> 
> Tell me that isn't a little bit of poetic justice though, that Ellana's too stupid to suspect they're more than friends XD


	25. Suspension Of Disbelief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dowager gives it four scarves, tied around the neck.
> 
> Then faints whenever the Commander speaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late again. A whole day late, which sucks. Got hit with a bout of unforseen exhaustion and just couldn't finish the chapter.
> 
> So here, have some dramatic rolling of the eyes, hysterical laughter, juicy details, and accidental repeated use of the L word.

The Inquisitor, much to Dorian's relief, stayed locked up in her quarters for the remainder of the day, only reemerging for supper. She was owed the rest, after all the traveling she did, so no one bothered her. With no prisoners to judge, nor rifts to close, and the exception of the advisers requiring her signature on a document on occasion, the Inquisition's daily machinations could continue on with or without her presence.

Which meant Skyhold functioned well enough in spite of her.

But she had to eat, of course, so she popped out of her quarters and glided into the main hall at the dinner bell that evening, appropriately dressed this time around, marking Dorian's suspicions that she'd only worn that revealing outfit to garner the Commander's interest. She flopped down in her seat at the head of the table–didn't even thank the servant that poured her a cup of wine, the hypocrite!–and shoveled food in her face.

Staring longingly at Cullen.

He shifted uncomfortably across from Dorian, but ignored her, for the most part, keeping his attention on the conversation at hand; Josephine, Leliana and Vivienne were discussing popular music in Orlais. Hardly anything of Cullen's interest, as he didn't even play any instruments, though Dorian knew for a fact he had the most beautiful singing voice. But he would rather keep focused on that than acknowledge the Inquisitor at the table.

He was succeeding, until Ellana changed the subject with, "So Cullen tells me he's seeing someone now," said rather disdainfully, and loudly, to get everyone's attention.

"Ah, yes, I had noticed you've been wandering the ramparts at night," said Vivienne, with a smirk. "Visiting someone in the guest tower."

"I imagine you have," Cullen remarked, brow aloft.

"Naturally, my dear," she cooed.

"Huh, so you mean someone's finally managed to drag Curly away from his desk, have they?" Varric commented, and Cullen chuckled, then nodded.

"Indeed they have, Master Tethras," he said, then sipped his wine.

"Didn't think that was possible."

"They must be leading him away with reports tied to a string," Leliana quipped, and a few snickered.

Cullen rolled his eyes and shook his head at that, face turning crimson. But in good spirits, nonetheless. He knew the Spymaster was only teasing him of course. And she knew better than to think it would take much convincing on Dorian's part. The man gorgeous.

"So who is this special someone of yours, Commander?" Vivienne asked him, and he ducked his head bashfully.

"Yes, do tell, Commander," Dorian added.

"Someone very beautiful," he answered, eyes on the Altus across from him. _But of course I am,_ Dorian thought. Then he heard, "Wildly intelligent and insightful. Very outspoken. Talented too. Someone who puts their heart in everything they do. Funny, sarcastic, and sweet, always finding ways to make me smile. To laugh. Just...just amazing," Cullen sighed, smiling. "Perfect, is the better word. Yes. Someone absolutely _perfect_ for me."

All the women sighed wistfully at such lovely apropos.

Except Ellana of course, who snorted grossly in her cup.

"Well just who is this modicum of perfection, darling?" Vivienne asked. "We're all dying to hear."

"Why it's me, of course!" Dorian chirped at everyone, smiling at Cullen, though his heart was pounding madly in his chest, and he nervously picked at his ring under the table. "Who else could possibly fit that description?"

Cullen chuckled, and next to him so did Varric. "Yeah, he _would_ have that kind of ego, wouldn't he?" he asked the Commander, and Cullen was inclined to agree, grinning from ear to ear.

"It's not ego if it's the truth, Varric," Dorian sang at him, winking at Cullen. But inside his stomach was doing flips. To hear the Commander say such things about him. And _mean_ them! He could tell the man meant every word. That he thought he was perfect. Not because the Pavus family bred him to be so, but...because of all those other things, and because he made the Commander so happy.

It was a frightening feeling, one that left him in so many knots.

"What can I say, he's irresistible," Cullen shrugged, leaning back in his seat, and several of them laughed.

"Yes, enough to tempt our infallible Commander here," Dorian added.

"Well, I for one am quite happy for you both!" Cassandra declared, cheerily, raising her cup in salute. "Perhaps Dorian will _finally_ have a man strong enough to contend with that ego of his," she added, winking at him. Cullen snorted at such appraisal.

"Ha!" Josephine burst with laughter. "It would take a _team_ of men to contend with such a thing!"

Dorian shrugged innocently, then glanced the Inquisitor's direction. She was eyeing him as if she meant to repeat that little phrase of hers. Something like, 'As if!'

She didn't believe it still. Did he really have to press Cullen against the wall and feel him up in front of everyone to make a point? No, he shouldn't have to. And such behavior was rather ghastly in his opinion. He and Cullen should have such moments with one another because they cared for each other, not merely to justify themselves to anyone. They had no one to answer to but them, after all. Certainly not Ellana Lavellan.

Who only rolled her eyes and scoffed at them both. Not believing a word of any of it.

"No really, who is it, Cullen?" she demanded to know, jealous hatred oozing with every word.

"I just told you, Inquisitor, it's Dorian," he answered plainly, gesturing to the mage in question.

Who would like to have _died_ just then.

Everyone glanced between them, some of them wondering if he were genuine just now, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra knowing full well he was. But Ellana huffed, throwing down her napkin and getting up from the table. "I'll find out who she is, Commander," she spat and stormed off, out of the main hall, likely heading to the tavern next, to aggravate someone there. Dorian pitied the Iron Bull and his Chargers.

"My dear, what _ever_ did you see in that girl?" Vivienne suddenly asked, and a few people raised a brow. "What? _Someone_ had to say it."

Dorian was nonplussed by the whole display, really. Ellana honestly didn't believe Cullen? Or was she merely in denial? Regardless, no one at the table even seemed to care, one way or the other, and moved on to a different topic of conversation.

Some also suspected they were merely pulling the Inquisitor's leg the whole conversation. Vivienne _hoped_ they were, for their sakes. But couldn't be certain. They spent so much time together, were so relaxed around one another. She was aghast, as for once she could not discern the truth of the matter. Not without proof. She only knew one thing for certain: If indeed it _wasn't_ Dorian, still, Cullen was deeply, madly in love with this person.

How could he not be? For the way he spoke was so genuine, and it melted the Enchanter's heart.

"Lady Josephine, you were telling us of your last visit to the Grand Royeaux Theatre, yes?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Ah, yes, now where was I..."

But Cullen wasn't concerned with what _Vivienne_ might be thinking. Instead he stewed over _Ellana_ the rest of the evening.

Of course she wouldn't believe them. Of course she would take their word as pure sarcasm. Not without seeing the two of them locked in passionate kiss, with her own eyes, would she ever believe it. Cullen was tempted to leap across the table and do such a thing, but he didn't know how Dorian would feel about that. He'd told Cullen he didn't require such public displays to validate his relationship, and thought such behavior was rather insipid.

 _Hardly a respectable way to behave,_ he said. _We're not animals, after all._

But he couldn't help but wonder if it had nothing to do with propriety, but instead had everything to do with fear. Was he afraid still? Even after all of Cullen's reassurances?

Cullen wished he didn't have to be.

But he would not force Dorian out of his area of comfort. He would respect his wishes.

And quietly love him, regardless.

But while Cullen was contemplating the matter with Dorian in the Great Hall, Ellana had decided to go to the one person she was certain would know the truth of it all, and just who this mysterious woman was that Cullen was seeing, if she existed at all. She burst into the Herald's Rest with an angry snarl and scanned the room of its occupants with her suspicious gaze. Sera was bound to be there somewhere, and she would surely know.

And she wouldn't lie, had no reason to. Matter of fact, she was quite certain Sera despised both Cullen and Dorian anyway, so she wouldn't keep secrets for them. She'd ask Bull, but he'd been traveling with her, so he wouldn't know. And he was gone anyhow, had already taken someone to bed, likely. Krem was at the counter, chatting up one of the barmaids, but all the rest of the Chargers were elsewhere, all except Dalish.

Who sat at a table in the corner with Sera and Blackwall, all three hunched over their drinks, talking. She marched right over to their table and plopped down next to the Warden with a huff. "Who is she?" Ellana demanded.

"Who's who?" Sera questioned, wrinkling her nose.

"The woman."

"What woman?" Blackwall asked. Ellana scowled at him.

"The woman Cullen is seeing. He mentioned he was seeing someone. Trotting off to visit her in the guest tower every night. But he wouldn't tell me her name. So, who is she?"

Dalish snorted. "He's seeing a _woman_?" she asked Sera, casting her a knowing sidelong glance.

"I know, right?" Sera cackled, eyeing Ellana mischievously. "Where would he find the time to see a _woman_? When all he ever does is spend his time with _Dorian_?"

Blackwall choked on his drink, then coughed, burying his face in the crook of his arm.

"Truly?" Ellana questioned, leaning back in her seat. "Huh. Well, he made it all up then, didn't he?" She then grinned from ear to ear. "So he's still single. Hmm, playing hard to get, are we, Commander? Well, then I have nothing to worry about. I always get my prey."

With a predatorial gleam she slid out of her seat and left the table, then the tavern altogether. In her wake, Blackwall palmed his face, while Dalish and Sera gaped at the Inquisitor's retreating form, as she shoved the door open. "Is she _really_ that stupid?" Sera huffed in disbelief, throwing her hands up dramatically, to which Dalish chuckled into her cup before taking a drink. "But no really, _how_ is she still alive?"

"So, the Commander and Dorian, eh?" Blackwall asked. "Never saw that one comin'."

"I know," Sera giggled. "If it's a prank on everyone, it's a _good_ one."...

After supper ended that night, Dorian walked with Cullen back to his office, grumbling under his breath the whole walk, pissed to all end about Ellana's antics during dinner, to which Cullen could only sigh and shake his head. "Why must you let her get under your skin, love?" he asked Dorian when they stepped inside his office, and Dorian opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it.

He watched, frozen solid, blinking rapidly, as Cullen went around his desk and milled about, picking up reports and moving markers on the map.

He hadn't called him Dearest.

He'd called him Love.

LOVE!

 _Fasta vas_ , he cursed. _No wait, it's just a pet name, right? Yes, a pet name. That's all. Not any different than darling or dear._

Southerners used it all the time!

Why, Blackwall often referred to Sera that way. It didn't mean that Cullen actually...

But it rolled off Cullen's tongue so naturally.

So much so that Cullen didn't even realize he'd said it.

He blinked a few more times, trying to focus on the question Cullen had just asked him, stepping closer to the desk.

"Why do I let her get under my skin, you ask?" he huffed. "I typically don't, but that was before she started harassing you. I could care less what she accuses me of, darling. You're absolutely right, I should have no reason to fear her repercussions for this. But did you not see the way she was salivating at you all through dinner? How jealous she was that you're taken? This isn't over yet, I can feel it, and I won't stand for it!"

Cullen sighed. "Just relax, dearest," he said, and Dorian did a little, when he heard the proffered name. "Now I truly think you're just paranoid. She's not going to steal me away from you. She couldn't possibly! She'd have a better chance at seducing _you_ , love," he chuckled.

Begrudgingly, Dorian conceded that point. But his heart pounded. There was that word again!

Cullen rested at his desk, leaning back in the chair, watching Dorian come around to settle next to him, leaning on the surface like he so often did. Carefully he moved the inkwell aside that barred his way and gingerly sat, not so much as rattling a map marker, let alone knocking them over. Cullen found that interesting. Dorian was now in the very same spot the Inquisitor had been that morning, however Ellana effectively capsized his work space.

But Dorian on the other hand merely encroached gently upon it. Gracefully perched, with a care for Cullen's belongings. He fretted still, folding both arms, so Cullen relaxed in his chair and patiently listened to him prattle to his heart's content about the matter, without complaint. He felt there was truly no reason to worry. But after he'd finally agonized over the whole thing quite enough for one night, Dorian then released a dramatic sigh.

"I don't suppose you'll join me in my quarters tonight?" he asked.

"I would, but it would be very late," Cullen responded. "I have work to finish here."

He gestured to the newly acquired stack of parchment cluttering his desk. Some new information brought in as some of their agents returned from assignment that afternoon, as well as a stack of notes Dennet found in Ellana's saddle bag. She'd completely forgotten to give them to the advisers to look over, but luckily the stable master found them and was kind enough to deliver them to Cullen's office.

"You could bring it with you," Dorian shrugged. "Thought I might do a little reading myself," he added. "Shall we be off then?"

Cullen shrugged. "Alright then," he agreed, rising to stand, then gathering up the mountain of notes to take with him.

They strolled side by side across the battlements to the guest tower, nodding in greeting to people walking as they passed. Should some of them suspect it was the Altus himself that Cullen was visiting every evening, no one made any comment on the matter. And neither could Cullen care. He was tired of caring, honestly. There were more pressing issues to focus on, and who he slept with should be of no concern.

Dorian unlocked his door and shoved it open with a tired sigh, then collected the parchment in the Commander's clutches, depositing the papers on the desk nearby. "Let me help you with that," Dorian offered, coming to assist Cullen with his armor, giving him the occasional peck as he did so, Cullen's arms slipping around him as soon as it was off. The light pecks soon turned to deeper kisses, and touches became more impassioned.

Straps and buckles left a trail from the door all the way to the bed as they gravitated toward it, stripping away clothing piece by piece, then fell onto the mattress, wrinkling the sheets. The Altus didn't think he would ever tire of this. The feel of Cullen in his arms. He pulled him as close as humanly possible. Still not close enough. Never so. Cullen cradled his head and kissed along his jaw, then his neck, inciting a moan.

"How shall I please you tonight, love?" Cullen murmured against his skin, and how Dorian's heart raged!

Damn this man and his careless use of such a powerful word!

Oh but how magnificent his touch!

"Any way you like, darling," he managed to say, and Cullen hummed.

His mouth slowly moved lower, following the curves and slopes of his torso, gently nipping at his skin in various places, while his hands slid gloriously over his body. Everywhere he touched Dorian was lit ablaze. No arcane fire could ever match the inferno Cullen could create with his meticulous foreplay. He roamed over the mage's skin like an artisan, played him like a lute, skillfully plucking at those most favored strings.

Then, alluringly methodical in the act, he moved to take Dorian in his mouth, slowly sinking down, having become rather proficient at this task as well, as he ever so much enjoyed it, relished in the seductive power he held over him. Reveled in the sounds he could make fly from Dorian's own illicit mouth. The breathless curses that came tumbling out when he took the whole of his length and swallowed it.

It was an addiction he'd gladly given in to, stronger of a drug than even that of Lyrium. After a time of patient attentiveness, he wet a finger to slip inside him, then nudged his thighs further apart to do so, hearing that spectacular pitch of a moan he so desired in response. Dorian absolutely lost his mind when he did, and at how conscientiously he sucked him off, cursing and begging in Tevene.

Cullen only understood the word _Amatus_ in all of that, and so he glanced up, then pulled away to say, "You'll have to try that again in Common, love," with a smirk. "I don't speak your native tongue, remember?"

Dorian's head jerked upward, as at that moment Cullen decided to press deeper inside him, making him fumble for coherant words.

"I need you, Cullen," he panted. "Please."

"I thought I could do with you what I wished, dearest?"

"Nh, I changed my mind. I want you inside me, _please_ ," Dorian begged.

Well, if he were going to beg, he could do so on his knees, and beg Cullen for more.

"On your knees, love," he commanded softly, removing his hand. "And put your hands on the wall."

With an elated sigh, Dorian did as asked and sat up, turned around, facing the wall behind the headboard and placed his hands on it, feeling Cullen behind him, running a calloused hand over his back, once more admiring the perfection he'd come to worship. The sublimity of his flawless skin, warm and smooth to touch. Then he reached to run fingers through his scalp, that soft, feathery head of obsidian, lightly kissing his neck and sholder.

Dorian's head fell back at the touch, eyes rolling back as well, breathing a languid sigh. So splendid was the touch, his fingers rough, but just lightly brushing his skin, making him shiver. A promise that this would not be rushed, would not be half-hearted, but long, slow, and deep. He touched to his heart's content, exciting the mage with every gesture of that articulate hand before finally reaching for oil.

Dorian started to put his hands down, but quickly Cullen said, "No, leave them there. Stay just like that." He shivered at that tone. It was quiet, sensual, but possessed every bit of that firm, commanding intonation he used with his soldiers. _Maker, but I love that voice!_ Dorian thought. He happily obeyed his Beloved and kept his hands on the wall while Cullen administered that blessed oil appropriately.

Then he entered, having learned to do so in a way that would cause minimal discomfort to Dorian, and once fully sheathed inside him, pulled him back against his chest, leaning back a little on his calves. "Is this uncomfortable for you, love?" he asked, and Dorian crooned. That damnable mouth with that beautiful word! Kaffas, but how he loved it!

"No," he said, and Cullen thrust, finding the perfect angle with which to sate them both, reaching around to jerk him as he did so. It didn't take very long to drive him over the edge, Dorian reaching behind him to grip Cullen's golden mane as he felt it building, making the Commander groan. He loved this feeling, never wanted it to end..."Fasta vas! I-I think I'm going to-"

"Sweet Maker, yes, come for me, love!"...

Some time later, after having been thoroughly satisfied, and having cleaned up their mess, they nestled into bed, propping their heads with Dorian's plush pillows, side by side, Cullen with his unfinished work, and Dorian with his latest reading material. "What are you reading?" Cullen asked, peering over in curiosity. He read the title. " _'Practical Applications of Lyrium'_?" He quirked a brow.

"Yes, Dagna had this sent from Orzammar," he said. "She recommended it. She thinks perhaps my problem might be that I'm thinking too much like a mage. That perhaps I need to think a little more arbitrarily. She might be right. I've already tried every other way of looking at the problem I can think of. Why not look at it from a non-mage's perspective for a change." He shrugged, flipped the page, and Cullen hummed.

He turned back to the slip of parchment in his hand, after a time furrowing his brow, then Dorian heard him sigh. Glanced over to see him drop the note in his lap and rub his eyes tiredly. "What's that?" Dorian chose to ask, and Cullen huffed, sliding the parchment over to let him read.

"The notes from Sahrnia's Quarry," he answered, irritation in his tone. "Samson's been growing Lyrium out of _people_ ," he added disdainfully. "Ellana failed to mention any of this during the meeting."

"Probably because she was too busy fawning over you," Dorian groused as he poured his eyes over the document. "It's just like what we saw in Redcliffe," he remarked. "The Red Lyrium spreads rapidly, infecting living tissue much like Blight. And tainting regular Lyrium it makes direct contact with. Which was why there were so many mages affected by it. He farms the material from Templars in much the same manner."

"Yes," Cullen nodded, running fingers through sweaty curling locks in angst. "But we have his location now. He's at the Shrine of Dumat, on the outskirts of Ghilain. As soon as the Inquisitor is ready to depart, I plan to deal with this matter. _Personally_. Put an end to it once and for all."

Dorian gaped at him. "But Dagna has yet to find a way to penitrate his armor."

"That doesn't mean I can't capture him...or just sever the bastard's head."

He picked up his stack of notes and continued flipping through them.

"How typical of you," Dorian griped. "First you try to drop a mountain on my head, and now you're making me wade knee deep through Red Lyrium again. Can't we ever have a _nice_ outing together, darling?"

Cullen's head swiveled. "I beg your pardon?"

"What? You didn't really think I was going to stay here, did you?"

"You are, yes. It's dangerous," he declared with a scowl. "Especially for you."

"Equally so for you, Amatus. You still have Lyrium yet lingering in your veins, and you would still be a _prime_ target for infection. And I've been assisting Dagna with her Red Lyrium research, yes? So you have to bring me. Aside from all that, I was your friend first, before all this, so I'm not letting you go at this without me. Of course it's dangerous, darling, everything we do is dangerous. We don't pluck crystal grace for a living, now do we?"

"Dorian, love, _please_ -"

"You'll be stuck with Ellana," he reminded, trying not to flinch when he heard that damnable word fall from Cullen's lips yet again. "At least let me tag along to keep you from becoming scrap meat for Dalish wolves."

Cullen snorted a little at that, rolling his eyes. But giving that some consideration.

"You would do the same for me," Dorian added quietly. "You have, remember?"

With a sigh, Cullen finally relented and nodded in agreement.

"If anything happens to you-"

"I'll be fine," Dorian assured, placing a hand over his between them, squeezing it. Then, tentatively, he tried on that pet name for size. "Perfectly fine...love."

Cullen squeezed his hand in return, then turned back to his work.

Dorian's heart pounded in his ears.

He turned back to his excessively mundane reading, both of them quiet, in companionable silence, for the remainder of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"My dear, what ever did you see in that girl?" Vivienne suddenly asked, and a few people raised a brow. "What? Someone had to say it."_
> 
> Amen to that sister!
> 
> \---
> 
> Buckle your seatbelts, Cullenites. Shrine of Dumat is coming up next.


	26. Red Skies Pt 1–On The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to the Shrine of Dumat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm elaborating on this quest, so it will not be tackled in one chapter alone. Get ready for some extreme apprehension, folks.
> 
> Also, off topic, I finally found a Not-A-Queen-Song that inspires me for these two. Nick Jonas' "Close". Tove Lo's second verse especially resonates with Dorian's emotions in this fic, I think.

The morning they were to depart for the Shrine of Dumat, one Cremisius Aclassi came knocking on Dorian's bedroom door. He cursed under his breath, shot Cullen a quick glance, then moved to minutely crack it open. But his scowl quickly melted when he saw who was coming to call on him. He smirked, saying, "Well, if it isn't the scrumptious Crème de la Crème. Good morning, my dear. What can I do for you?"

Krem snorted at Dorian's sugar laced greeting, and grunted, "Not here for you, smooth-talker. I'm lookin' for your man. Is the Commander in there?"

Dorian raised a brow at that, and fertively glanced back at Cullen who was in the middle of dressing still. Armor on, but his cloak lay on the bed. Cullen heard Krem's voice, and sighed, coming to the door. Dorian moved to the side, opening it wider so that Cullen could lean against the doorframe. So they really weren't a well kept secret then, if Bull's lieutenant knew just where to find Cullen, and in who's bed?

"Morning, Commander," Krem greeted, holding up a few slips of parchment. "Chargers' latest findings, and a note from Sister Leliana."

"Thank you, Mister Aclassi," he said, accepting the papers to glance over them. "And just how did you know where to find me?" he asked, smirking, somewhat amused by it.

"Eh," he shrugged. "Inquisitor didn't see you in your office, so she asked the Chief where might you be. If anyone would know, it's him, right? He sent me here."

"I'd like to know _how_ the Iron Bull knew where you'd be," Dorian remarked, mildly suspicious.

Krem chuckled. "He wagered there was somethin' goin' on between you two _ages_ ago," he said. "Big lummox was right, eh? Damn," He shook his head, "I'll be out by a lot of coin for the next two weeks, buyin' him rounds at the Rest...Anyhow, Mistress Lavellan will be waiting for you at the stables, she says. A good day to you both, and safe travels." Cullen nodded appreciatively at that, and Krem made to leave.

"Wait, you're...not going to tell her where he is, are you?" Dorian asked, and Krem turned back.

"Pfft! As if she'd believe it?" he said, then walked, back from whence he came.

"That's a good man," Dorian purred, and shut the door. He resumed dressing, donning his darkened samite and obsidian battlemage armor, the obtrusive apparel he so despised that made him look like the _maleficar_ the southern realm swore up and down he was–but Ellana had commissioned, were he ever to travel abroad, the twisted little beast!–But at least he looked good wearing it. Vivacious, really.

"I have to stop by my office, get my travel gear," he heard.

"I left something in the Undercroft, darling, I'll meet you at the stables," he promised, and the Commander nodded. Then Cullen threw his cloak over his shoulders and buckled his scabbard in place, approaching Dorian to peck him on the cheek. Oh but Dorian wouldn't be satisfied with such a light show of affection. They would be on the road for _days_ , with no opportunity whatsoever to have these moments.

Catching Samson was just a bit more imperative, presently.

He pulled Cullen back to him by the fur of his mantle and planted a deeper kiss on his gorgeous mouth, one that left them both breathless. "Keep doing that and we'll never leave this room," Cullen murmered, and Dorian hummed in favor of that idea.

"I'll be along shortly, Amatus," he said, relinquishing his Beloved, who disappeared through the door, gently closing it with a soft click.

As expected, Ellana was at the stables already, with Varric and Cassandra in tow. She was adjusting the straps on the saddle of her hart, wearing the most ridiculous thing, in the Seeker's opinion. It was the most inappropriate style of dress, something called _antaam-saar,_ some sort of Qunari fashion, and the outfit barely covered her extremities. Dyed a deep forest green in color, enchanted to protect from the cold.

Cassandra suppressed a groan.

Ellana Lavellan was many things, however _subtle_ simply wasn't one of those things.

She watched the Inquisitor smile sweetly at Cullen when he arrived, thanked Dennet as he handed him off a saddled forder, then turned and did a double take at seeing Ellana's selected attire for traveling. He looked away and busied himself with lashing his belongings to the mount, also suppressing a groan. _Dammit_ , he cursed. _I think Dorian was right. She hasn't let it go yet, has she? Maker's breath, I wish the woman would just move on!_

Ellana's smile widened when she saw how flustered he became. So far her plan was working, it seemed. He might've managed to succussfully evade her there at Skyhold, make everyone convinced he truly was seeing someone, but he wouldn't be able to avoid her on the road. A man could only resist for so long before they eventually gave in. And she would be certain to entice. She glanced around, but stopped smiling when she saw black.

 _Oh Creators_ , she groaned internally.

Crossing the lower bailey was an armored Dorian, staff and travel gear in tow, carrying a bright red apple, oddly enough. As if he were simply out for a stroll he so casually approached the group, Cullen paying him no mind at all. Cassandra and Varric eyed him curiously as he walked up to the stables, making a beeline for the dracolisk behind the fence. "Hello, you big ugly brute," he cooed, petting its snout. "Ready for a little trip, are we?"

"Ought not be giving him so many treats day in and day out, Master Pavus," Dennet warned, for umpteenth time. "You'll make him fat, you will."

"How is an _apple_ going to make him fat?" Dorian huffed, then turned back to the beast as it screeched. "Don't listen to him, darling, you look fine," he told the drak, that screeched again and nosed him for the apple. "Who knew one can feed dracolisks _fruit_ , right?" he asked, laughingly. "How positively charming for such ghoulish looking things." After thoroughly preening the scaly mount, he saddled it and led it out of the stable.

"Quick question," Ellana piped up from atop her own mount, that shifted nervously about. "Who invited _Dorian_ to tag along?"

"I did," Cullen was quick to answer. "Is that a problem, Your Worship?"

The group all laid their eyes on her as she mulled it over. "No, no problem," she finally answered, worrying her lip. _Damn you, Pavus!_ she thought. She shuddered at the ugly beast Dorian mounted, and just how positively primeval he looked riding it, then tugged on the reins to lead the hart away, Cassandra and Cullen following. Behind her Dorian curled his lip at her ghastly outfit. _Trollop_ , he slandered internally.

Varric hung back, atop his own steed–of which he was well aware of looking absolutely ridiculous riding–to ask Dorian, "Did you really tame a dracolisk _just_ to piss off the Inquisitor?"

Dorian grinned darkly. "You bet your card-dealing, novel-writing, crossbow-wielding painted _arse_ I did," he sneered, then nudged the brute along. Of course, not to say he didn't become rather attached to the creature. Birds of a feather, as they say.

Varric shook his head at him, but followed, shifting about uncomfortably in the saddle...

The ride through the Frostbacks was painstakingly dull. Ellana brooded atop her hart over Dorian's unexpected presence among them, and behind her, Cullen brooded over the upcoming battle he foresaw taking place. The plan was fairly simple, they would make camp at various Inquisition outposts along the way, and head straight for Ghilain, where they would meet with some of Leliana's contacts, who would set up a forward base.

Infiltrate the keep, and kill Samson. Or capture him, maybe. If they could. Leliana suggested they bring him back to Skyhold and allow her to interrogate him for valuable information. And then execute him. Cullen didn't care how he died. He just wanted him dead. Samson's travesties had gone on long enough, and the sooner they took him down, the sooner they broke through the ranks of Corypheus' followers altogether.

The closer they were to _defeating_ him.

Directly behind him, alongside the Seeker of Truth, Dorian stared at the back of Cullen's golden head, contemplating the Commander's quiet demeanor in silence. He and Cassandra shared glances every once in a while, as it seemed the Seeker was of similar mind as the Altus. Cullen had been very short with nearly everyone at Skyhold, even Dorian himself, ever since learning Samson's location, chomping at the bit to take him down.

Cassandra was concerned for him as well, of course. She knew Cullen had a personal history with Samson. The two had served in Kirkwall together. And he'd already failed to take him out when Haven was attacked. The Commander did not tolerate failure in any form. Perhaps he took this mission to capture Samson quite personally. It set him on edge, and made him hardly pleasant company at the moment.

At the back of the group, Varric grumbled under his breath about how absurd it was for dwarves to ride horses. A dwarf's feet really should stay on the ground, in his opinion. But that was merely to keep his mind occupied, as he was worried too. Cullen was a fairly complicated man, he'd come to understand, especially in the months of working with him. And his history with Samson? Evidently even _more_ complicated.

They slowly eased into conversation, Dorian growing mad with boredom, so he started pestering Varric about his books, mostly his romance serial. As much as he claimed to despise it, the mage sure brought it up a lot, didn't he?

Then, at one point, he actually asked, "Varric, are you and Cassandra...?" Waggling his brows suggestively.

"What?! No! Why would you even ask that?"

"Truly? Bizzarre."

"I'm right here!" Cassandra exclaimed beside him.

"See? She's right there! What are you waiting for?"

Cassandra gasped, turning in her saddle to scowl at Dorian, who grinned and winked at her. She shook her head at him, but her cheeks turned a rosey shade of pink. _Hmm, maybe she does have a bit of an unrequited crush on the storyteller_ , Dorian thought. Varric scoffed in disbelief. "Just because two people dislike each other, doesn't mean they're about to kiss, Sparkler," he groused, to which Dorian huffed.

"Not according to your books," he reminded.

"Don't mistake me for that hack who wrote Hard In Hightown II," he said. " _I_ can spell...Besides, going by that logic, you and the Inquisitor would've jumped in bed _ages_ ago."

"I heard that," called Ellana from the front of the group.

"You do make a good point. But she lacks a very important component, of course."

Ellana's scoff could be heard from all over Thedas.

"You don't really hate each other, do you?" Cassandra whispered.

"Hate is such an ugly word, my dear Seeker," Dorian evaded.

Most of the ride was silent yet still, with maybe the occasional banter, extremely tiring and hard on everyone's backsides, but finally, they were down and out of the mountains and stopped to make camp that night. They dismounted near a river, Dorian drawing upon flame to get a nice campfire going, then assisting Cullen with setting up a tent, while Cassandra and Varric wrangled another into being.

Ellana worked on a third, to which Cullen asked, "Why do we need a third tent, exactly? There's only five of us. Two is more than enough room."

"Because I want my _own_ tent," Ellana huffed, securing a tagline. Then she straightened, placing a hand on her hip. "I'm certainly not rooming with either one of them," she pointed to Varric and Dorian. "But I don't mind sharing with _you_ , Commander," she amended with a wink. "There's room enough for two."

Cullen scowled at the come-on, and next to him Dorian seethed.

Cassandra rolled her eyes.

"No thank you, Your Worship," Cullen clipped between his teeth.

"The two of you can share a tent," Cassandra told both men. "I'll sleep with Varric."

"Ha! I knew it!" Dorian exclaimed.

"I didn't mean it like that," Cassandra growled. She glanced at Varric, who was folding his arms and eyeing her incredulously. "You know what I meant."

The Inquisitor pouted. "You sure you don't want to stay with me, Cullen?" she asked sweetly, pointing to her tent.

Cullen huffed. "I'll bunk with Dorian," he said, then glanced at the mage. "I'm sure he can keep his hands to himself," he added.

"Yes, but can _you_ , darling?" Dorian asked him.

"I make no promises," Cullen quipped with a smirk, then carried on about his task, the Seeker snorting behind her hand, and Varric merely shaking his head.

Ellana's "Ugh!" was even more obnoxious than the Seeker's iconic use of the phrase, and could probably be heard clear back at Skyhold. Cullen bit the inside of his cheek, and his tongue, at that.

After shooting Dorian a murderous glare, Ellana returned to erecting her private tent–the brat!–Dorian and Cullen returned to their task, as did the Seeker and the storyteller. All were silent for a time, then gathered around the campfire to partake in their rations. All silent still. Dorian didn't know if he could stand another day of such monotony, let alone a whole week. But the sooner they got to the Shrine of Dumat, the sooner this would be over.

He could see himself and Cullen sharing a nice piping hot bath together when this was over.

A pleasant thought that kept him in better spirits.

They crashed in their armor, none of them stupid enough to dress down in what could still be very dangerous territory, and none of them wanted to be caught off guard. But it was troublesome, for both men, who'd grown quite used to holding one another at night. Near impossible now. Cullen lie on his back, sword over his chest, resting his head on his sheild. Dorian was in a similar position, clutching his staff.

"Are you alright?" Dorian whispered after a time of listening to Cullen fidget.

The Commander sighed. "No," he admitted honestly. "I just want this to be over with."

"I do as well, love," Dorian told him.

Halfway through the night both heard a slapping sound, then Varric exclaim, "OW!"

Cullen lifted his head, about to get up, when Dorian held him down. "Shh, listen," he whispered, and both listened carefully.

"I'm so sorry, Varric!" they heard the Seeker apologize. "I swear, it was an accident!"

"Heh, for once!" Varric barked. Then, "Ow! Stop touching it!"

"Hold still and let me see it! You could be bleeding!"

"Well, it feels like it, so stop touching it–mmphfth!"

"Oh stop it, it's not _that_ bad."

"You punched me in the face! _Again_!"

"Well, at least I didn't do it on purpose this time, you big child!"

"What do you do, _dream_ of punching me then?!"

"Oh shut up, Varric!" she barked, then elbowed him in the side, to which he grunted, and both rolled away from each other in the tent.

"Pipe down you lovebirds!" Dorian sang, hearing disgusted scoffing from both parties. He chuckled.

"The way you fight, you might as well be married!" Cullen called next to him, and more disgusted noises were fired back, then all of them settled into silence.

The days dragged on. Constant bickering on all fronts, the heat and humidity the further away from the mountains and further into the Dales they went. Ellana becoming more and more disgruntled, Cullen becoming more and more distant, but Varric and Cassandra slowly becoming more comfortable with one another. Late at night, they would hear them whispering in their tent to one another, sharing stories.

Varric telling her about Kirkwall and Cassandra telling him about her deceased brother, Anthony, and whether or not there was romance blossoming between them, Dorian was certain that at the very least a true friendship was in bloom. The more they got to know one another, their strengths, their passions, their likenesses, just like Cullen and Dorian did. Give it a few months, a spiked bottle of wine, and a Comtesse, and the two would be lovers.

They eased along, taking it one day at a time, though one morning, Dorian was certain the revelry had dropped, when he woke to find the tent empty and Cullen standing outside, watching the sunrise. They were in western Orlais now, maybe only a day more and they would be on the outskirts of Ghilain. Dorian shuffled out of the tent and over to where the Commander stood, reflexively gripping the hilt of his sword.

Once more he asked if Cullen was alright, but got no reply this time around. Cullen only flexed his jaw, staring intently into the distance. It was a long, silent minute before he spoke up, saying, "No more stops. We ride straight to Ghilain from here."

"Alright," Dorian sighed, then watched Cullen rub his temple. "You have a headache."

Cullen nodded a little. "I forgot my potions back at Skyhold."

Dorian jaw ticked in irritation at that. "I don't have the means to make more."

"I'll survive it."

"You had better. Because if you don't, I'll resurrect you and kill you again myself."

"Yes sir," Cullen quipped, though not sarcastically. He took Dorian at his word.

"I could try a little healing magic, if you'd allow," he then suggested. Cullen glanced at him. "I may not be able to affect the Lyrium in your blood, but a healing spell could undo some of the damage done. It may relieve the symptoms, at least temporarily."

"That's really not necessary-"

"Cullen, darling, let me help you. _Please_ , love," he persuaded, holding up both hands, reaching for him. After a moment of thought, Cullen finally sighed, closing his eyes, and nodded, granting permission. Dorian was no healer, he knew this, but he did what he could, focusing his magic on Cullen's ailments. He heard the Commander groan in relief, the tension in his frame all but melting away completely. "There, that's better, is it not?"

"Thank you," he said.

Then the two watched the sunrise together for a time.

It was tragically romantic.

Nearby their mounts bristled, flicking their tails, Cullen's forder sidestepping and leaning closer to Dorian's drakolisk. "Oh look, they're friends," Dorian cooed, pointing at them. Cullen chuckled. Indeed, the forder was nuzzling the scaly brute tethered next to it. What an odd pair they made. Frankly, it was adorable. "Hmm. Give it a few more weeks and they might be _more_ ," he surmised, to which Cullen laughed again, letting his head drop to Dorian's shoulder.

"Thank you for coming with me, love," he whispered.

"You're quite welcome, Amatus."...

Per Cullen's suggestion, they made no more stops and rode straight to the forward camp from there. In the distance, towering over the valley, was the stronghold that held the Shrine of Dumat, where once, long ago, Dorian's ancestors worshipped the ancient gods. Formidible of a keep, menacing, and precisely what one would expect from an evil lair, in truth. Leliana's scouts met them a few paces off, and led them to their hidden camp.

As far as they knew, they'd yet to be discovered, so Cullen met with Leliana's lead agent while the others quietly assembled tents and settled in. The plan was to wait for nightfall, and stealthily approach the fortress. Take out the watch on the outer wall, though breaking into the main gate would be the most troublesome. They hadn't managed to locate any other hidden entrances, and the several scouts they sent in up close were dead.

They couldn't afford to lose any more people, and Cullen didn't want to, if they could help it. But in the middle of their meeting, a sentry interrupted, bursting into the tent, pulling the hood from his head. "We've been discovered," he announced, fervently. "They're torching the place. Going on the run."

"Dammit!" Cullen exclaimed, then sidestepped around the table, leaving the tent. "Everyone move! Now!" he called. "They're torching the keep!"

Heart pounding in his throat, the Commander took off running, their agents soon to follow, Dorian, Varric, Cassandra and Ellana all chasing after them, catching up as quickly as they could. Weapons at the ready to take the keep before Samson could get away. To corner him inside.

Provided they could.

If they weren't already too late...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Varric, are you and Cassandra...?"_
> 
> _"What?! No! Why would you even ask that?"_
> 
> _"Truly? Bizzarre."_
> 
> _"I'm right here!"_
> 
> _"See? She's right there! What are you waiting for?"_
> 
> _"Just because two people dislike each other, doesn't mean they're about to kiss, Sparkler."_
> 
> _"Not according to your books."_
> 
> _"Don't mistake me for that hack who wrote Hard In Hightown II. I can spell."_
> 
> ^Actual in-game banter. Bioware gets all the credit. The rest is all my doing, however.  
> \---  
> I totally headcanon that Varric and Cass get together at the end of Inquisition if Cass isn't romanced. I'm a die hard Varricass obsessor XD


	27. Red Skies Pt 2–Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and company assault Samson's stronghold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned, this will be longer than the quest as it is in-game, but hopefully what I've written can be interpreted as more of an Extended Edition, like a Director's Cut, rather than completely non-canon. I've only added, not changed everything completely.

The air around them was stale and the heat from the flames was stifling, even without so much as nearing it. Warping everything they could see in their path. Flames licked the walls and anything susceptible burned brightly. With the sun beating down and the fiery inferno before them, a sheen of sweat broke out across the Commander's brow as he and his companions stood before the impenetrable gate.

"Blast it off its hinges!" he snarled, and without delay Dorian did so, summoning the strongest spell he was able, sending a stream of fire from his staff. They may not have the element of surprise any longer, but they would not be barred entry from the place. Whoever was left inside would fall shortly, and Samson, if he were still on the scene, would be dealt with swiftly. The gate exploded, splinters flying, boards flung against the stone.

Dorian then cast a barrier around them, and followed Cullen inside.

"I don't see him anywhere!" Ellana called.

"Nor I," said Cullen. "Maker, tell me he hasn't fled."

A group of Red Lyrium infected monstrosities, however, _were_ there, and rushed at them, roaring and screeching. Many Templars were also left behind to provide Samson a window of opportunity, delaying the enemy force. Sword already drawn, Cullen slashed, slicing through their crystal forms, following through with a shield bash, and then effectively blocked their counter attacks, claws scraping against his blade.

Beside him the Seeker kicked one away from her then drove her sword deep into its chest before it could scramble to its feet. And behind him, Dorian unleashed his spells upon them. The steady drum of the sound Varric's crossbow made when it fired bolt after bolt rang in Cullen's ears. Ellana dashed away from the fight on the ground to bound up the steps, and take out the archers on the wall raining arrows upon them.

It was intense the first few minutes, as they and the Inquisition's soldiers made their way through the courtyard, picking off enemies. Shouts and cries, followed by screeches filled the air, the clanking of metal against metal and blade against bone. Cullen could barely keep track of where anyone was at any given moment, but could roughly estimate based on the sounds he heard around him as he tripped up a Templar and cut through his armor.

The weak point in his plated form, at the shoulder where the breastplate and pauldron were knotted together, slicing through it, severing his arm and he wailed. Another stab in the throat effectively silenced him. In his peripheral vision he could see yet another Templar charging at him, shield raised, so he quickly sidestepped out of the way and caught him in the leg as he passed, tripping him up. A blow to the back of the neck ended him.

"I think that's all of them, Commander," he heard, and glanced around, scanning the courtyard for any movement that wasn't a flash of fire. There were too few targets for this to be Samson's full force, meaning he'd already started clearing out long before they arrived. Meaning they _never_ had the element of surprise. All around them crates were busted, tents were blackened with soot, and everything was in ruin.

"Into the keep!" he barked, gesturing with his dripping sword and they surged forward, bounding up the steps.

Atop the landing they heard a roar, and jumped back as a Red Behemoth burst through the door, flailing its monstrous form, sharp edges of red catching in someone's chain mail and the agent flew, then smashed against the wall. He landed in a crumbled heap and stayed unmoving. With barely enough time to react, they barrel rolled out of the monster's way, Ellana aiming for its legs, while Dorian and Varric aimed for its head.

Cullen and Cassandra were able to get behind it and wedge their blades into its torso, and with all five of them, plus an archer, they fell the beast, that shattered like glass, red dust kicking up in the breeze. Now clear of obstruction, Cullen made his way inside and looked around, shielding his eyes for a moment from the heat of the burning Red Lyrium surrounding him from all sides. His head ached immensely in close proximity to it.

The main hall of the keep looked deserted. He'd been too late, hadn't he?

All of the lower level was demolished, and nothing but yellow hot flames. If there had been anything combustible on the first floor, it had already detonated. Anything of value, it was surely gone now. There was nowhere to go but forward, and across the balcony overlooking the main hall, to the master chamber beyond. If he hadn't already escaped, that's where Samson would be still, perhaps rushing to get through a hidden exit on the other side.

"This place is already half destroyed," Ellana huffed behind him, as the others had followed him inside.

"Samson must've ordered his Templars to sack his headquarters so we couldn't," he told her.

"We were too late then," said Dorian beside him, and he flexed his jaw.

"Sorry, Curly," said Varric. "Someone tipped off Samson you were coming."

"I think you're right," he said. "Still, we've dealt Samson a blow."

"How so, darling?" Dorian asked.

"Because we've got the bastard running scared," he said, and proceeded down the steps.

"What shall we do now?" the Seeker asked, following him down.

"We should search the place for anything left behind before it all goes up in smoke," he said, and pressed forward.

At that moment, across the vestibule, the last remaining Red Lyrium beasts, left behind to delay any unexpected visitors, decided to make their way around the corner and down the steps on the other side. Once more they drew their weapons and attacked, Cullen angrier than ever, cutting through the closest one with a roar when he reached it. Across the vestibule they fought, until all were oozing crystallized blood on the floor.

They rushed up the steps on the other side and entered the next chamber, where more Red Lyrium burst through the walls, and around them fires torched everything in their path. Smoke filled the enclosed space, making it hard to see, even harder to breathe. And lastly, more Templars guarded the chamber, readying their shields and drawing their blades, rallying in a closing attack formation.

The flames were spreading to the Red Lyrium nearby, and as it burned, again Cullen could hear the most agonizing sound, grating on his nerves. It was like someone had broken every string of a lute, or perhaps scraped their nails against a slate surface. It made his already splitting headache far worse, and his vision blurred. A blade caught his cheek, nicked his skin and he lashed out, ramming his sword through the individual in blind rage.

But that was the last man to fall, and they were granted reprieve. Cullen dabbed his cheek with the back of his gloved hand, feeling a tingling sensation. Dorian was casting healing magic, and he looked up to see Ellana was passing around healing potions. Cassandra had been bleeding from her arm, Varric bashed in the nose, and Cullen's eyes quickly darted to Dorian, assessing him for injuries. None, that he could see, at least.

But he'd mostly been providing support, defensive magic rather than offensive spells. He'd stayed behind the group and cast spirit magic upon them. Cullen exhaled in relief at the thought, then turned to the door before them. "Lead the way, Commander," Ellana offered, readying her weapon, as did the others, so Cullen gripped his sword and shield tighter in hand. Then, with a snarl, he kicked the door open.

This chamber also appeared abandoned, but they crept carefully regardless. It hadn't yet been touched by the flames, but immeasurably hot Red Lyrium snaked up everywhere, pulsating, glowing menacingly around them. There were no exits that he could see, and it truly was empty, save for one man, laying on the floor, head propped up. There was no blood, but he appeared sickly, and Cullen's eyes widened when he saw that face.

 _Maddox_.

He carefully approached the Tranquil, and beside him Ellana eyed the man curiously. He was still alive, somber expression plastered on his youthful face. If he felt any pain, he didn't show it. He was incapable of it, lacking emotion. "Hello, Inquisitor," he said softly to Ellana, who blinked in surprise.

"You know me?" she questioned, but ever was Maddox's blank expression unwavering.

"It's Maddox," said Cullen, kneeling before him. "Samson's Tranquil." The very man who'd so skillfully crafted his armor. The man he'd befriended. Smuggled love letters for. Lost everything for. That he'd condemned to a life without magic, without emotion, without love, when he'd been discovered. Though had found a use for. But condemned to death, Cullen feared. "Something's wrong," he said. "I'll send for the healers."

"That would be a waste, Knight-Captain Cullen," Maddox spoke evenly, confirming the Commander's suspicions with, "I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence. It won't be long now."

Ellana huffed, disbelievingly. "He poisoned himself?"

"I did, yes," Maddox told her. "I destroyed the camp with fire. We all agreed it was best. Our deaths ensured Samson had time to escape."

"You threw your lives away, for _Samson_?" Cullen questioned. "Why?!"

"Samson saved me even before he needed me," he said. "He gave me purpose again. I..." His eyes started to flutter shut. The poison had reached his heart. "..wanted to help..."

His head lolled, and he ceased to breathe. Cullen pulled off a glove and reached to check his pulse. "He's dead," he informed, letting his hand drop away.

"Are you certain?" Dorian questioned.

Cullen nodded his head solemnly.

"We should look around," he forced himself to say, though he hadn't the will to speak. His voice cracked a little. "Maddox may have missed something."

"Should...should be bury him?" Ellana asked, curiously, honestly having no idea what to do with the Tranquil. "Should we leave him, or...?"

With a sigh, Cullen rose to his feet, picked up Maddox's body and carried him out, without a word said. Behind him Dorian glanced around the room, finding nothing of value, so after clearing everyone out, he torched the Red Lyrium inside, and closed the door. There was very little left that hadn't burned, no notes of any kind, but the tools Maddox had used to craft Samson's armor were scattered about.

They were peculiar, not anything like what Dagna used, and might be of value.

Dorian collected them, storing them in his satchel, to give to the arcanist to study.

Ellana grumbled under her breath, something about effort being wasted, but Cullen ignored her. He ignored everyone, in favor of distancing himself from Red Lyrium's eerie song and taking Maddox's body back to their forward base, for proper burial. He ordered the men to tend to any wounded and see to the remaining dead. Sometime later, he stood alone in vigil by the pyre, where Maddox's body slowly turned to ash.

He hadn't known what to say in regards to him. Mages weren't given the funeral rights of non-mages and Templars. Most were simply tossed into unmarked graves, and forgotten. Tranquil were given even less. They weren't considered people. The Chantry preached to the masses of how they were a plight. A curse upon the world. This was the corrupt faith Cullen had been taught. Had foolishly believed. And how his heart ached at that.

So he recited the words he knew for a proper Andrastian funeral. Maddox deserved that much. He didn't know any better. This wasn't his fault. There was another yet to blame for it. Cassandra eventually approached and joined him, recanting the verses of the Chant with him. She said nothing, hadn't known what to say in regards to the matter either, only squeezed his shoulder consolingly, then left him there.

Alone then, he stood in quiet vigil over Maddox's body, absently thumbing the pommel of his blade.

"Forgive me," he whispered to Maddox's deteriorating form as it hissed and popped, blood boiling in the flames.

Dorian watched from afar while the others milled about camp. Watched Cullen stand alone on that hilltop, head bowed. Absently twirling the ring on his finger in his concern.

This was not a victory for Cullen, he could see that. They may have had Samson on the run, but he would not be satisfied until the bastard was swinging from the hangman's noose. Dorian didn't know how to console Cullen. He was very bad at that sort of thing. He knew that apologies would only be empty, and he also knew what he _wouldn't_ want to hear at time like this, were he in Cullen's shoes. So he kept silent.

But eventually he approached the Commander, to say, "Well, in addition to destroying a perfectly good fortress, the fire did also deactivate the Red Lyrium in the vicinity. Every trace of it has been destroyed. So that's one less source of it in the world, at least."

Cullen nodded. "Clever of the arcanist to figure out fire would be effective."

"Yes," Dorian nodded in agreement. "So what shall we do now, love?" he then asked.

"Leliana's people tell me there's a trail due west. Samson's escape route most likely. I'll follow it, see where it leads."

"You don't think it would be better for us to go back to Skyhold? Take these tools to Dagna? Let the Spymaster handle this."

"You and the others will return to Skyhold. But I have to track down Samson, before it's too late, and we lose his trail altogether."

He turned away from the fire and headed across camp, Dorian following him closely. "Have you gone mad?!" he exclaimed. "You can't possibly take him on your own!"

"I _have_ to finish this," he snarled. "I will not allow all our time and effort to go to waste! And I will not wait a day longer to face him! This ends now! With one of us, or both of us, in the ground!"

Dorian grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop.

"You can't be serious!" he said. "You'll die!"

"I might, but I'll take the bastard with me."

Dorian blinked repeatedly in shock at what he heard.

By this point, others were made aware of their argument, Varric, Ellana, and Cassandra were approaching, sporting concerned expressions. "You don't really plan to go after him, do you?" the Seeker questioned, and Cullen shot her an apologetic glance. Then he yanked away from Dorian and proceeded to cross the encampment. Stubbornly they followed to the treeline. "You should at least allow us to accompany you," Cassandra suggested.

She, of all people, would not let Cullen do this alone, if she couldn't stop him completely.

"No," he said. "Go back to Skyhold, Seeker. I'll send word when I've located him."

"Or come back in box!" said Varric. "You couldn't possibly defeat him by yourself! You need our help!"

"And have all of you killed at my expense? No," Cullen shook his head, "That I will not allow, Master Tethras."

"Cullen, this is a stupid idea," Ellana told him, but she was the very _last_ person whose opinion he cared to hear at the moment.

"I remember not long ago the tables were turned, Inquisitor, and it was I who made that claim when you rushed out the Chantry door at Haven!" he spat, throwing it back at her that she herself had made such plan, an idiotic plan, to go out and distract Corypheus' dragon so they could escape. Single-handed. "But it was our only option, and the only plan that wouldn't end with hundreds of people paying the price!"

"I'm sensing a pattern here," Varric mumbled.

"Why must it be you?" Dorian asked. "We have hundreds of people capable of tracking him down, and once we've located him, we can call for reinforcements! That is why your army exists, is it not?"

"And risk him being tipped off again? Escaping yet again? I may only be one man, Dorian, but I can go unnoticed easier than a hundred soldiers marching along the country side. I will have no more argument on this. I'm leaving."

He turned to make his way into the woods, but Dorian was not going to let him go so easily. He followed him, once more grabbing his arm and yanking him back.

"Why are you so obsessed with this?!" he demanded. "What in the Maker's name has gotten into you, Cullen?!"

Cullen seethed for a moment still, pupils dilated, eyes blown wide open with blood lust. Being so close to him, Dorian then noticed he was trembling, so infuriated he couldn't so much as keep a steady breath. Veins popping out of his forehead, and he probably had a massive headache too. So angry he was seeing the proverbial red, clenching both fists. "Why are you doing this?" Dorian asked again, calmly this time.

Cullen struggled for a moment to respond, temper flaring, but determined not to lash out at his love unnecessarily. Dorian was not the one Cullen was angry at. Nor was it any other standing before him. Maker's breath, it wasn't even _Samson_ he was angry with! Not really. Not entirely, at least. But _himself_. Above all else, he was angry at himself still, for all he'd done, all he'd allowed. For his _failure_.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming a little, enough to speak.

No, Dorian was not who he was angry with.

He turned away from his concerned gaze, a proper explanation forming on his tongue.

 _Maker forgive me for this_ , he prayed.

"I mentioned before that I knew Samson in Kirkwall," he said slowly. Quietly. Those furthest from him stepping closer to hear. He wished they wouldn't. They'd only turn away from him by the end of it. "He was dismissed from the Order for smuggling letters between a mage and his lover. Left to die, cut off from Lyrium, as the Chantry refuses to cater to those no longer in service to them. He was forced to beg on the streets.

Maddox, the mage he'd smuggled letters for, however, was sentenced a worse fate. The Rite of Tranquility. Meredith charged him with 'corrupting the moral integrity of a Templar'. Branded him, left him to suffer as all Tranquil suffer. Without the ability to cast spells, but also...without the ability to feel. To love. Made a hallow shell easily influenced by those with ill intent. But...I never mentioned how they...how they were caught."

Dorian's hand fell away from where it clutched his arm.

"Samson and I were bunk mates in Kirkwall," Cullen told them. "I found the letters under his mattress. Turned him in. Thinking, at the time, I was doing my duty. That I was doing the right thing."

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut when he heard that, clenching both fists, wishing Cullen could take it back.

"And that isn't _half_ of what I'm responsible for," Cullen then told them, voice wrought with unbridled emotion. Head bowing in remorse.

"You didn't know what would happen," Dorian said. "Tell me, Cullen. Tell me you didn't know that would happen," he pleaded.

To his relief, Cullen said, "No, I didn't know." But his relief was quickly replaced with anger when he heard, "But I agreed with the decision."

"You...feel that you're responsible for all of this, don't you?" Cassandra mustered the will to ask. "That had you not had Maddox branded, he would still be alive now?"

"And he would never have agreed to Samson's plans," Cullen told her.

"You can't seriously blame yourself for everything that's happened," Varric floundered, gesturing widely at the forest around them with his arms. "I'm going to take a guess and say that you think because of what you did, that somehow makes you responsible for everything wrong with the world? As if people like Samson, Meredith, _Corypheus_ had nothing to do with it? As if all of this traces back to _you_?"

Cullen raged, turning sharply to face Varric, stepping toward him threateningly.

"You of all people should _know_ what I'm capable of!" he spat heatedly, and all of them stepped back as he raged on the dwarf. "You and your Champion, and all his followers _watched_ me do it! Saw me blindly issue Meredith's orders! Brand Tranquil left and right! Curse mages as if they weren't even people, Varric! Cage them! Torture them! Slaughter them like animals! Don't act as if I'm so _fucking_ innocent when you know the truth!"

His words were met with silence.

He turned away from Varric, from all of them, every inch of his body trembling with rage, heart pounding, aching with regret.

"I may not have put that Red Lyrium forged blade in her hand, Varric, but don't behave as if I've done nothing. She might've commanded me, but it was I who chose to listen to those words, and ignore the pleas of those helpless she ordered me to kill."

Varric swallowed, nodding a little, conceding the point. "I...I know that, Curly," he said quietly.

Beside him Dorian was in shambles. Trying but on the verge of failing to contain his emotion in regards to the matter. He knew. Knew of all those things, had always known. Heard all the stories of what heinous acts the Templars committed in Kirkwall, even other places. But it was a different matter entirely to hear the words fall from Cullen's own lips. _Some things are unforgivable, Dorian_ , he'd said once. And truly, what he'd done was just so.

Having taken a moment to calm himself, in a more even tone, Cullen said, "I may not have been the one to give Samson Red Lyrium, but I'm the one who drove him to Corypheus. I'll be the one to bring him back as well. I started this. I'll finish it."

Cassandra gripped the hilt of her sword tightly in angst, debating on what to do, when the Inquisitor did it for her. "Let him go," she said, eyeing Cullen with disgust. "If this is what he wants, let him go."

Then she stalked off, wondering what she ever saw in the man.

But Cassandra was reluctant to let him go. "I did not recruit you in Kirkwall, put you on this path, a _better_ path, for you to throw your life away like this, Cullen!" she spat. "That was _never_ my intention! This was _not_ what I asked of you!"

"It's no longer your call to make, Seeker. Inquisitor's order," he said, and at that, Cassandra shook her head, storming away, knowing no other way to react than in anger. She flipped the nearest table as she walked through the encampment, and kicked a few barrels in her wake. Only Dorian and Varric remained, neither of which knew what to say. Cullen turned and disappeared into the woods, leaving them there, and Dorian utterly distraught.

Part of him hated Cullen so. Wanted to condemn him like all others of the Order before him, like Samson himself...But then another part of him wanted to surge forward, grab him by the collar, and beg and plead with him to stay. He didn't know which part to listen to, so he stood frozen solid, watching Cullen become fainter and fainter in his line of vision, til he was nothing but a blur of red and gold. A faint light in the growing darkness.

"He's going to get himself killed, Varric."

"I'll talk some sense into him," Varric offered, and started off in the direction Cullen went.

"How?" Dorian asked. Varric paused and shrugged at that.

"Well, he's right about something. I _do_ know the truth. I _was_ there. I _did_ see it. He didn't know Meredith was corrupted by the sword. He really did think he was doing the right thing. It wasn't what he wanted, Sparkler. But it was what the Chantry manipulated him to do…And he's not the only one still picking up the pieces of something. Maybe I can get through to him. Wait for us here. If we're not back by nightfall, leave without us."

Quickly Dorian's hand shot out, gripping his shoulder, pulling him back, eyeing the treeline still. "Please bring him back, Varric," he said, shakily, and the rogue glanced up at him.

"I'll do my best, Sparkler," he promised, then disappeared as well.

Leaving Dorian standing there alone, tears finally falling from his cheeks, now that no one could see them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Mages weren't given the funeral rights of non-mages and Templars. Most were simply tossed into unmarked graves, and forgotten. Tranquil were given even less._
> 
> ^Don't quote me on this. Don't know if this is true, haven't read it anywhere, but it seems like something the Chantry would do.  
> \---  
>  _"Clever of the arcanist to figure out fire would be effective."_
> 
> Considering how much she experiments on Red Lyrium, it would be hard not to lol but I got to thinking about how dumb it is to destroy Red Lyrium cashes in the game, like, basically kick it with your boot, bro. Good as gone. And I figured considering what it consists of, and the fact that a pyre not only symbolizes Andraste burning at the stake, but is a good way to keep a blighted corpse from spreading the disease as opposed to a ground burial, I thought, "Hey, maybe fire would be an efficient way to destroy Red Lyrium, huh?"
> 
> Theory: What if Andraste burned because she was infected by Blight and to keep it from spreading? What if history got it wrong? They did with Elvhenan. Is this possible? Someone who's studied more of the lore and the Chant than me, please comment on this. I'd love to hear what people think.


	28. Red Skies Pt 3–A Better Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric, Cassandra, Dorian, and Cullen admit to some things they hold themselves accountable for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other words, Varricass and Cullrian do some bonding over tragic truths.

He found the trail easily enough. Indeed, there were tracks leading westward, away from the fortress, and the occasional specks of Red Lyrium, mostly small broken shards, glittering along the path. The trail he followed led to a ravine, with a dried riverbed, recently trampled. All evidence pointed that direction, and so Cullen followed, stepping down onto the dirt, eyes on his surroundings, watchful for any predators.

Samson may have been long gone by now, but there was only one way he could have gone, into the ravine, following the river to wherever it led out. As he stepped carefully along the path, he heard rustling in the bushes behind him, from whence he came, and his hand flew to the hilt of his sword. But he sighed, removed his hand, then scowled as Varric leapt from a rock and down onto the dirt behind him, swinging his crossbow over his shoulder.

The stubborn little beast he was.

"Go back to camp, Varric," he growled at the dwarf, who only sighed, throwing up both hands defensively. "You, least of anyone, would be able to convince me to stay."

"I'm not here to stop you, Curly," he corrected as he strolled up. "I'm joining you."

Cullen's exasperation deepened for a moment.

He would rather have anyone else there at the moment. Well, almost anyone. Surely not Ellana. Cassandra maybe, or Dorian. But Maker's breath, Dorian would never so much as speak to him again, after this. Perhaps it was best that he go through with this. At least he could die having done the right thing for a change, instead of foolishly deluding himself into thinking he was a better man. A man worthy of the Altus.

The man he feared he would never be.

Perhaps now Dorian could move on to someone that truly deserved him.

He ground his teeth at the dwarven rogue obstructing his plans.

Obviously there would be no chasing the storyteller away if his confession at camp hadn't done the trick.

"Try to keep up then," he clipped, then turned and marched onward, hearing Varric follow, silently, like a shadow, close behind him.

But back at camp, things were rather hectic, as agents flitted about, packing up to clear out of the area. Their search was thorough, and they'd done all the investigating of the keep they possibly could before it grew too unstable a structure to venture within. All the Lyrium had been disposed of, burned brightly that evening, casting a brilliant glow on everything nearby. The Inquisitor glanced up at it occasionally, as she strapped her belongings to her hart.

"We should wait for Cullen," Cassandra urged, hoping and praying with all her might that the dwarf could convince him to turn back before it was too late. But Ellana only huffed disbelievingly at Cassandra's suggestion.

"If the man wants to die for this, let him," she snipped, tugging the straps of the saddle tighter around the hart's frame, making the poor creature shift restlessly, sensing its master's unease. "After everything I just heard, I'm starting to wonder why you ever recruited him in the first place. The man's a _murderer_ , Seeker. How, by the Creators, could you ever let him live after hearing what he's done?"

"Because this is _not_ the man I recruited!" Cassandra huffed. "The man I found in Kirkwall was bound and determined to rebuild it. To _amend_ for his mistakes, and for those of the Order he followed. A man willing to _atone_ for his sins. To be _better_. But not a man who would foolishly throw away his life, his love, and all he's accomplished thus far, for no good reason! He's in pain, Ellana. He's not thinking clearly, and he needs time to grieve."

"Grieve?!" Ellana exclaimed, whipping around to face her. "You really think that's what this is? Grief?! You people know _nothing_ of grief! Nothing of what it means to lose everything! To suffer! You will never know grief like my people have, Seeker! You and Cullen, you're all the same! You claimed your Chantry, your Maker and his burnt bride had all the answers, then you led my people around in chains like lambs off to slaughter! Don't tell _me_ of grief!"

Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut and bit back a remark at how yet again Ellana managed to make this situation about her people, as if no one else had ever suffered. Not that she was wrong per say, but...She was in pain as well, Cassandra noted. Lashing out because a man she admired revealed such incriminating information about himself, that he'd never divulged to her previously, and she could hardly process this at the moment.

So instead of snapping at the Inquisitor, Cassandra let her go, watched her mount the hart and tear off at a gallop, away from camp. Abandoning her companions, her _friends_ , in favor of riding back to Skyhold alone. The Seeker had never felt so useless before, so helpless to do anything, and she despised this feeling. But there was still one person in that camp that had yet to leave, who still stood by the treeline, arms folded, waiting.

One hand hand was poised above his mouth, nervously fiddling with the shining silver trinket wrapped around his finger. It was Cassandra's only indication that something was bothering him, that he was extremely disturbed by everything that happened, otherwise from her angle he looked like he was casually observing the forest, deeply contemplating. She slowly approached him, wringing her hands in angst.

He discreetly wiped the tears staining his cheeks when he heard footsteps, knowing it was the Seeker coming to speak to him. "Are you alright?" she asked gently, her accent marking every syllable. He sighed.

"No...but thank you, Cassandra," he answered. He glanced at her, catching the tail end of her nod in understanding. Then both regarded the trees for a moment together.

"I'm surprised you have nothing to say about...about all of that," she said after a time, gesturing to the place where Cullen had been standing before he disappeared into the woods. "It's...no easy matter to deal with."

Oh, he had _plenty_ to say about it, and she was right, it was no easy matter. "Yes, it...it seems our dear Commander is a very complicated man indeed," he said, but he knew the Seeker would not be satisfied with such a vague remark on the subject. Knew that she would want to hear his opinion of it all. She meant well, she truly did, he was well aware of how greatly she respected them both, but..."You're right, it isn't easy."

"You didn't ask him to stay," she said.

"No, I didn't," he agreed.

"But you didn't want him to leave either," she then guessed, and his lip twitched.

"No...I didn't," he then relented. "I...I care very deeply for him, Seeker," he admitted, to which Cassandra nodded.

"But to truly love him means to love all parts of him," she commented. "Even the parts you struggle to accept. The past you choose to ignore."

"Yes," he agreed. "And it's awfully difficult to do so when the man practically _shoves_ it in my face."

"He would never hurt you, Dorian. You know that."

"Tarrying off to get himself torn from limb to limb by a Red Lyrium crazed sycophant hurts me just as deeply, Seeker."

Cassandra sighed. There was no arguing that. Cullen's actions would indeed hurt Dorian as much as they hurt any other. Honestly, she was frightened for Cullen, envisioning such scenarios playing out in her head. "I'm sorry, Dorian," was all she could think to say.

But he could accept her apology. He could tell it was sincere, that she never meant for any of this to happen, and would've done more if she could. But it was of no use. Cullen was angered by Samson's escape, angered by his own actions in Kirkwall, grief stricken by Maddox's untimely death, and full of regret. He thought he was doing the right thing, and no amount of convincing on their parts could turn him away from this decision.

"I understand how he feels," he said, after a moment of thought. "When I learned of what Alexius planned to do with the time amulet, I...well, I partly felt responsible for all of it. If not for my aid, he would never have gotten so far in his plan. He never would've been able to craft such a device, let alone use it, should he ever obtain a substantial enough power source. Because of my actions, so many would've paid the price."

"But you were given the opportunity to undo all that had been done."

"Not everything, Seeker."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that while I may have some talent at raising corpses from the earth, still, I can't bring back the dead."

"Alexius," she guessed, and correctly, he might add, though it was also Felix he'd liked to have seen returned to him as well. Both men had been so dear to him, and left such a hole in his aching heart. A gap that only widened with Cullen's disappearance.

"I couldn't stop his execution. I'd already watched him die once. I didn't want to do it again. But I couldn't convince Ellana to spare him, and I could do nothing to change what he had done already. Kaffas, who knows what else I would've changed then. How drastically I could have altered events. But, I won't lie, I _had_ considered it. That split second Ellana and I were in that future, and I had that amulet in my hand, I considered going back a bit farther."

"And changing everything?" she asked, and he nodded.

"But you didn't. Why?"

He sighed. "Destiny, dear Seeker. For some Maker-forsaken stupid reason I still believe in it, sadly. No man should ever possess such power. Alexius' actions were a lesson as to why."

"I'm glad you feel that way," she told him. "I'm truly sorry for your loss, but...I'm glad you changed your mind. We would not have you with us otherwise, I imagine."

He snorted a little. "I never thought I'd ever hear someone say that."

"Are you so certain you wouldn't?" she inquired. "I believe you have more friends than you think, Dorian. And I would proudly consider myself one of them."

It warmed the mage's heart to hear that. "Thank you, Seeker. I feel the same."

She placed a hand on his arm, part affection, part reassurance, and he let out a sigh.

"You run along, Seeker. I'll wait behind for them."

Cassandra shook her head. "I'll wait as well," she told him.

He reached to squeeze the gloved hand on his arm appreciatively. "Varric said if they're not back by nightfall, leave without them."

"Hmph, well, I think we can give them til morning...As long as it takes."

"Do you think Varric has any chance of convincing Cullen to turn back from this?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I know Varric is capable of many things," she said. "He was able to convince an entire realm of a great many falsehoods."

"True, but...how will he convince a man that knows he's a deceiver, and could see right through his lies?"

Cassandra took a breath. "My guess? He'll try the one thing he's yet to."

"And that would be?"

"He'll tell the _truth_ for a change. Come, let's head back to camp. Standing here, twiddling our thumbs, won't make time go by any faster."

"Yes, a pity there's no amulet for that either," he quipped, and she smiled a little at some of that wily charm of his returning, looping her arm in his, and he allowed her to drag him away...

"So what's the plan?" Varric asked, and Cullen huffed, but continued walking, and ignoring the rogue as if he didn't exist. "You do actually have a plan, right?"

Cullen growled. "Of course I have a plan."

"Don't tell me it's 'walk into the enemy camp and let them kill us'."

"I don't have a death wish," Cullen swore.

"Could've fooled me."

"Aren't rogues supposed to be quiet?" he groused, already having heard quite enough of the storyteller's irksome tone for his liking.

"Stealthy, actually," Varric corrected. "I don't see where I need to be so now, do I?"

"Well, if you don't shut your loud mouth, Tethras, you'll _wish_ you had been."

Varric sighed.

He'd had a feeling the Commander wouldn't make this easy for him. If they couldn't so much as have a conversation, how in the Maker's name was he supposed to get him to turn back?! He grumbled under his breath but kept talking to a minimum behind Cullen, who continued on as he was, the whole time in his head thinking of something–anything!–he could say that would make Cullen change his mind on this one.

He was as stubborn as they come. Otherwise, how would he have possibly survived his withdrawal? Yes, Varric knew about it too, had guessed ages ago that Cullen no longer took Lyrium, and frankly, he was proud of the guy. But if he was too determined to listen to anyone else, how could Varric get him to see reason? _Maybe this was a bad idea,_ he thought. _Andraste's ass, as stubborn as he is, maybe he'll survive Samson just to spite him!_

But at the same time, he could envision Cassandra already, chasing him around camp, sword in hand, cursing him out for letting her Commander die.

Envision Dorian killing him, resurrecting him and killing him again, _repeatedly_ , for getting his best friend killed.

He didn't like what he pictured.

And he _really_ didn't want Cullen to die.

As Varric debated upon how to save Cullen from himself, ahead of him Cullen was indeed devising a plan. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to walk right into Samson's camp, waving a flag, and tipping him off. He would bide his time, pick off one of his guards maybe, take their armor, don the disguise. Get close to Samson, get him away from his men. Varric could provide a distraction if necessary, lead them on a wild goose chase.

Catch Samson with his guard down, and cut off the bastard's head, watch it roll on the ground.

He steadily marched through the narrow cliffs, Varric following in silence once more, the sky above them, once white, but now a cloudy grey. Night was descending up them, and soon it would be total darkness. "Hey," Varric called after a time, making Cullen roll his eyes.

"What now?!" he growled.

"Mind if we stop for a rest?"

"Are you serious?!"

"Come on, we've already trekked halfway across Thedas, then fought a horde of Red Lyrium infected monsters, without so much as stopping for a second wind! And my feet are killing me! I'd say we're due for a little rest, are we not? I mean really, there's only one way Samson could've gone. _Thataway_." He gestured to the path ahead. "And he'll still be there when we get there. Probably waiting for us with a trap of some kind. I have that sort of luck."

Cullen considered all of that for a moment, then finally sighed, coming to a stop ahead of him, thumbing the pommel of his sword. "Fine," he reluctantly agreed.

"Thank you," Varric sighed, and flopped down on the nearest rock to rest for a moment.

Of course, he wasn't actually tired. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even winded. After all the times he let himself be dragged across the Free Marches with Hawke, then dragged across Ferelden and Orlais with Lavellan, he could handle whatever the Commander could throw at him. Compared to how much of a mad rush the Heroes of Thedas were always in to get from place to place, Cullen's easy pace was a stroll in the park really.

Matter of fact, as slow as they'd been moving, Varric was almost wondering if maybe Cullen didn't really want to do this. Maybe his mind was pushing him forward, but his feet were holding him back. Maybe he'd yet to make up his mind at all, but it was getting dark, and if Varric didn't figure out how to get Cullen to come to his senses soon? They'd both be food for wolves. Maker forbid they come upon a den of them somewhere in these cliffs.

So he settled in, resting Bianca beside him, but Cullen didn't sit down. He stopped for Varric, but still stood there in the middle of the path, hand ever on the hilt of his sword–a thing of which made the rogue wonder if his hand just might've been fused to the handle at this point–staring at the narrow passageway ahead of them. Varric took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. "So, Curly, care to hear a story while we're kicked back?"

Cullen grumbled under his breath. "If it's anything to do with your adventures with the Champion, I don't want to hear it," he groused. Not as scathingly as the last several times he'd barked at Varric, but still irritated.

"Oh I think you'll find this one interesting though," he persuaded.

"How could I possibly?" Cullen asked, curiosity peaked.

"Because it's not about Hawke...well, not entirely." Varric scratched his head and sighed. "It's the story of how Meredith got her sword."

Cullen blinked repeatedly when he heard that, then slowly turned his head to eye Varric suspiciously.

"I thought you never knew its origin?" he said, then turned to face him completely when he saw Varric's tired expression. He'd expected the usual humor, the laughter in his eyes, the winsome smile, things typical for the mercenary, but instead saw none of that for a change. Instead, the rogue was quite serious. Varric shrugged indeterminately at Cullen's question, running a hand through his fiery hair.

"Well, truth be told I don't know for certain, but...I have good reason to suspect it came from a certain Deep Roads expedition."

"You want to be a bit more specific than that?" Cullen requested, stepping closer.

"How about I start from the beginning? Not-not the _actual_ beginning, per say, as we're kind of running out of daylight here, but...far enough back that you'll get the picture."

"By all means," Cullen offered, folding his arms.

"Well, it all started when Hawke and I traveled with my brother, Bartrand, to the Deep Roads. We funded the expedition. My brother was convinced the trip would be a proverbial goldmine. And I convinced my brother to let the Champion tag along, so the three of us, plus a few friends, made the journey. We found a thaig that as far as we knew had never been previously discovered, and what we found within, well...

We had no idea what it was. Had never seen anything like it. Lyrium...but it was red. Made into some sort of idol." Cullen let out a sigh when he heard that, reaching up to rub the back of his neck in angst, and Varric could guess what he was thinking. "Long story short, Bartrand knew that whatever we had stumbled upon was valuable, so we took it, but...we didn't know the Lyrium was unstable. It started...affecting him. Drove him nuts.

He betrayed us. Didn't want to split the profit, so he cut us out of the deal. Trapped us in the Deep Roads and left us for dead. _My own brother left me to die._ " He grimaced, thinking about being trapped down there like that. "To this day, I can't go underground without being reminded of it. And I wonder why on earth any of my ancestors ever wanted to be down there. But, anyway, by the time we got to the surface, Bartrand was gone. He'd sold the idol on the black market."

"And that idol..." Cullen started, making Varric look up at him.

"Eventually resurfaced, forged into a blade."

"Meredith's sword."

"Yeah."

"But you never suspected?"

"Well, I knew she was insane, but I didn't suspect until right about the time she was trying to kill all of us." Cullen nodded absently at that. "Anyway, moral of the story is, you said you weren't the one to give Meredith that sword but...well, in a way, _I_ did."

Cullen cocked his head to the side in confusion. "You can't possibly blame yourself for that," he said. "That makes no sense! You couldn't have known that...would...happen..." He trailed off, when it clicked suddenly in his mind. "There's a reason you told me this story, isn't there?" Varric nodded. "No, this isn't anything like what I've done, doesn't even compare to it, Varric! You didn't know what you stumbled upon, but I-"

"You were just following orders, Curly. You were doing what the Chantry taught you to do. And you know that."

Cullen started to get emotional again. "Dammit Varric, I killed Maddox!" he exclaimed, voice wavering. "His blood may not be on my hands, but his death is on my conscience! Along with countless others!"

"I get that," Varric pressed. "And I'm not saying you didn't do anything wrong, but the thing about seeing the big picture of something is...well, you kind of start to lose focus of all the smaller ones." He stood up, and dared to step closer to Cullen, raising his hands, almost in surrender, to say, "Joining the Inquisition to amend for your mistakes was the right choice to make, but–"

He didn't even bother with nicknames this time around.

"–But dammit, Cullen, this is _insane_! And you know that! Maybe that Lyrium got to you, but you and I both know how _crazy_ this is! Running off and getting yourself killed won't bring Maddox back! It won't bring any of those mages in the Gallows back! It won't change what happened! But going back to Skyhold, and doing your job, will help a lot of people still alive, people that still need you! Like a certain mage who whines and nags _way_ more than is really necessary?!"

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut at Dorian's mention. "Varric-"

"I promised Sparkler I would bring you back alive, because if you haven't noticed, there are people that care about what happens to you, Curly. You want to do the right thing for a change? Turn around! Go back!"

"I can't," Cullen whispered, tears stinging his eyes. "I can't, Varric. I can't go back. I can't face him. Not after...not after all that."

"You can and you will. You'll probably get punched in the face, but hey, take it from someone who knows, my friend, it'll be _worth_ all the trouble when this is over." Varric watched as Cullen soaked that in, reached up to rub the tears from his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, _finally_ coming down from his anger completely and crashing into remorse. _Finally_ seeing the error of his ways. "If you don't go back, nothing will ever change."

Cullen's face contorted even deeper into regret, and he let out a ragged sigh, nodding a little at Varric's words. "We'll...we'll go back," he finally agreed, and Varric let out the breath he'd been holding all afternoon in a sigh.

But before he could so much as suggest they get moving, both heard a crashing sound in the thicket. "What was that?" he asked, both looking around, searching for the source of the sound. Next, they heard animalistic sounds gradually getting closer.

"Wolves, most likely," Cullen guessed.

"Well, shit," Varric quipped.

Seemed like they'd be late getting back after all.

Cullen became increasingly alert, quickly wiping his eyes and reaching for his weapon.

"What was that about having bad luck?" Cullen then asked as he drew his sword and Varric readied his crossbow, loading a bolt. Varric scowled.

"No need to remind me, Curly," he said, and braced for the attack...

Back at camp, night had fallen hours ago, and still no sign of the dwarf, nor Dorian's Beloved. He and Cassandra were the only two people left, as the Inquisiton's agents had cleared out. So they'd erected their tents, and huddled around the fire Dorian conjured, next to one another on a bench, fighting the chill. He worried himself to pieces wondering when or if they'd return. But Cassandra kept him company throughout the ordeal.

"What you said about Alexius," she piped up, breaking the silence. "I know how you feel."

"How so?"

"I too have regrets. Things I feel responsible for."

"And what could those possibly be, Seeker?" he then asked, finding it hard to believe Cassandra of all people would have anything to regret. She was not one to build her faith upon travesties, but instead upon the good works of others. She followed her heart, listened to her conscience, rather than to naysayers. Thus the Inquisition was reformed. Cassandra sighed at his question.

"Too many to count," she answered. "But...above all else, I regret never taking action sooner. Had I known what would happen, I would've done so many things differently."

"Like, perhaps not punching the storyteller _quite_ so hard?"

She snorted a little. "That too," she relented. "But mostly, I regret not leaving the Seekers of Truth sooner, not standing up for my beliefs when perhaps I should've. I could see that the Chantry was in need of reform, but Justinia encouraged me to have patience. She was convinced the Conclave would be a success, that the Inquisition would only be a _last_ resort, but...I should have known better. Perhaps...she'd still be alive."

Dorian sighed. "Seems we _all_ have something we still hold ourselves accountable for," he commented, and Cassandra nodded in agreement.

It was then that they heard footsteps crunching on branches nearby, and both looked up.

To Dorian's relief, they saw Varric and Cullen appearing from the woods nearby, stepping into the firelight. "What are you two still doing here?" Varric asked. "I told Sparkler not to wait for us. You were supposed to leave hours ago."

"Thank the Maker!" Cassandra exclaimed, rising from her seat, completely ignoring Varric's scolding.

"Of all people, I think these two would be the very _last_ to ever do as they're told," Cullen commented.

"Yeah, it would be our luck to get saddled with the stubborn ones, huh?" Varric agreed.

Cullen's gaze rested on Dorian on the bench. "You're alive, I see," Dorian assessed with a frown. "I suppose I can cease my vigilant watch." Immediately he rose from his seat and walked away from camp, further up the hill, folding his arms and staring at the fortess in the distance that was still burning brightly, even then. Behind him, Cullen's shoulders slumped. Well, he hadn't been punched. But he sighed at Dorian's dismissal.

Surprised the mage would even speak to him.

"I'm glad you're alright," Cassandra told him.

"Cassandra, I apologize for-"

"Save it," she said, holding up a hand and coming around the fire to hug him fiercely. "No apologies. I'm just glad you're safe." She let go, then bent to hug Varric as well, then, to the dwarf's amazement, she pecked him on the cheek with a kiss. "Thank you, Varric," she whispered, pulling away, leaving a flustered Varric to clear his throat. Then both looked to see Cullen watching Dorian apprehensively. "He's been worried about you."

"Worried?" Varric questioned. "Looks more like pouting to me."

"They're...rather the same thing when it comes to Dorian," Cullen explained.

"Go talk to him," Cassandra gently encouraged, waving him onward. He bit his lip in nervousness. Ever with his hand on his blade, the other balled into a fist, to keep both from shaking. But he did just that. Varric and the Seeker watched, intruiged, as he slowly started toward him, one foot in front of the other, cautiously, like he was approaching a dragon, or maybe a wild hart he was attempting not to spook.

That was exactly what was running through Cullen's mind at the moment as he walked up to Dorian. Scared that if he moved too quickly, Dorian might react defensively and light him ablaze. He honestly didn't know what he was thinking at the moment, if what Cassandra said was to be believed. That he worried for Cullen. All he knew was that it would take far more than an apology to make this right. He braced himself for whatever reaction.

"You left me," Dorian spoke quietly when he heard Cullen behind him. The Commander didn't respond, not knowing what to say, but Dorian continued. "You could've died. I was worried that you had. I hate you for that."

"Dorian, I..." He couldn't finish that sentance. Couldn't bring himself to say all the things he was thinking. He could get on his hands and knees, grovel at his feet, and beg for forgiveness all he wanted, but it was far more than he'd ever deserve. And it would be useless anyhow. It wouldn't change what happened. "I'm so sorry," he dared to whisper, bracing for the anger he expected in response. "Tell me how to make this right."

Dorian mulled it over, eyeing the unpleasant scenery before him.

"Promise me something," he requested. "Promise me that no matter what it takes, one way or another, we'll end this, you and I. We'll stop my people from destroying this world, and stop yours from letting them do it. Promise me that, Cullen."

"I promise," he swore. He reached out, wanting to touch his arm, but didn't dare, and let his hand fall back to his side. "Forgive me," he said. But Dorian only sighed.

"I'm not certain it's _my_ forgiveness you need, darling."

"I fear it's the only forgiveness I'll ever have a chance to receive."

Dorian didn't know what to say to that. Only, "Promise me something else. That you won't run off and almost get yourself killed like this anymore."

It was Cullen's turn to sigh. "That, dearest, is a promise I _cannot_ keep. It is my duty, after all."

"You could at least _try_ though," Dorian pouted.

"I...I can try, love."

Finally, Dorian turned his head to glance back at Cullen, who stepped closer, finding the courage to do so when hearing Dorian's gentle tone, affectionate names, and hearing all he had to say. He wasn't worthy of such care, such devotion, and feared he would never earn it, but at least their friendship hadn't diminished, not entirely. He stood next to him and watched the Shrine of Dumat burn in the distance with him.

"I...can't believe the fire hasn't gone out yet," he remarked, and oh he head _no idea_ how uncanny of a statement that was. Indeed, it hadn't gone out. Fizzled maybe. Nearly died. But as much as Dorian hated to admit it...their fire had not died completely.

It burned steadily, like the flames in the distance.

He stared at those flames, then leaned his head to the side, saying, "Do you suppose it's a good omen, maybe? Isn't there an old saying, 'A red sky at night is a sailor's delight'?"

"I'm not sure that applies when setting a keep full of Red Lyrium on fire, Dorian."

"Oh. Well, still. It almost looks...beautiful. If you turn your head a certain way it...it almost looks like a sunset. Romantic, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is." Cullen glanced at Dorian, watching the flames dance across his hazel eyes. "Certainly beautiful, yes."

But no longer did he refer to blazing red skies, real or imagined, but a better scene no painter could ever capture the true beauty of.

A beauty he was unworthy of.

But would die fighting for.

Now _that_ was a promise he could keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of Red Skies (Not the final chapter of the fic! Don't freak out!) But not to say that this is over. There's more struggle ahead. A few caddy remarks about burning Red Lyrium looking like a sunset will not suddenly make everything hunky dory between these two. 
> 
> But the path to healing has been taken. Fingers crossed they make it to the end :/


	29. No Better Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cullen have two _way_ different methods of resolving issues.
> 
> Obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit. I'm late again. I know. *Face palms* This chapter was super hard for me to write because while I wanted to stay true to both characters as they've been presented so far, I felt it necessary for them to come to some minor resolution. Not to say that their troubles are over but...you know what, fuck it, just read the thing, you'll get the idea. :/

"So what took the two of you so long to get back?" Dorian asked Cullen and Varric, as they and Cassandra settled once more around the campfire. "What did Varric do? Recite the entire Chant of Light to convince you to return?"

Cullen sighed a little. "Wolves," he corrected. "Came upon a den of the beasts. Delayed our return."

"Otherwise we would've been here hours ago."

Cassandra eyed them both incredulously. "Hours? A group of wolves set you back by hours? Truly? I thought the two of you more capable than that."

Cullen and Varric shared a glance, both looking a bit sheepish.

"Well, we uh," Varric began, scratching his head, "We didn't think anyone would be waiting for us, so we...talked about a few things."

"Settled a few differences," Cullen added. "More or less."

"Yeah," Varric nodded in agreement. "More or less. I guess you could say we... tied up a few loose ends. Settled a bit of unfinished business."

"And finally put a few things behind us."

Cassandra and Dorian were both overly curious now, but neither one of them inquired further. Whatever it was that they discussed, it was now in the past.

Hopefully for good.

"So, we'll set out in the morning then?" Cullen asked them, as he and the dwarf accepted the tins full of broth Cassandra and Dorian served them, as they hadn't eaten in hours. Cassandra nodded at his question. He was silent after that, concentrating on his meager supper, avoiding Dorian's gaze. He still couldn't look him in the eye, after everything that happened that day, and the mage feared this wouldn't be over between them.

It would be a long time before things were completely back to normal.

Or...should he say _their_ version of normal.

Not to say that Dorian wanted to do much talking either. He was still angry at Cullen. Fighting to resist the urge to leap across the fire, tackle him to the ground, and strip him out of his armor, while simultaneously fighting the urge to leap across the fire and light him ablaze. Neither one of those responses would be helpful, so instead he sat and stewed, scowling at the fire. Both Cassandra and Varric could sense the tension between them still.

There was a dark cloud hovering over all four of them that night, metaphorically _and_ literally, considering the Shrine still burned in the distance, letting off the most horrendous smoke.

This was going to be a long night.

But maybe things would be better in the morning.

After a time, they decided to retire to their beds, get some rest, and so they packed up their belongings, the dwarf and the Seeker heading to their shared tent, but Cullen didn't follow Dorian to their own. Instead, he lingered outside by the fire, fidgeting uncomfortably. Reluctantly, Dorian approached him, to which he spooked nervously, expecting Dorian to get angry with him. He sighed. "Coming to bed, Amatus?"

Cullen winced at the endearment. "I'll...stay out here tonight. Someone should keep watch."

Dorian stared blankly at him, hardly believing it. He could see it now, Cullen gradually becoming more and more distant, just like he did when Dorian first confronted him about his nightmares, inquired of the past he didn't wish to speak of. He sighed at Cullen's behavior. There were two ways he could go about this really. He could push Cullen, drag him into the tent with him, or he could let him be, and give the man his space.

Perhaps they were owed some space. Dorian didn't want that. Didn't want them to grow apart because of this, but...he knew he shouldn't forgive Cullen so easily either. He slowly nodded, then went inside the tent alone, leaving Cullen outside to settle next to the fire, clutching his sword tightly. He listened intently for a few minutes, holding his breath, hoping Cullen would change his mind and join him, but he never did.

They continued this way for the entirety of their trek across Orlais. Speaking so little to one another, Cullen barely so much as glancing Dorian's direction on the road beside him, let alone making eye contact, then lonely nights in the tent all by himself while Cullen stayed outside by the campfire, like a mabari licking its wounds, ears and tail drooping. It was aggravating. Nevertheless, Dorian kept silent. He wasn't anything if he wasn't patient.

And in the months of knowing Cullen, he learned that patience was the key to taming the wounded mabari of a man.

This would take time, for both of them. Time for them to let go. To move on. But perhaps things could eventually go back to normal and they could resume their daily routine back at Skyhold. Surely they would be better by then.

But he missed Cullen severely. Despite everything, he missed holding him at night, or at least having him near. He'd never realized before just how heavily he depended on that comfort until going without it for so long. By the time they reached Val Royeaux, he was going out of his mind over the whole thing. He was tired, sore, aggravated, and let's not forget how desperately he craved intimacy, which left him quite sour.

He would not tolerate yet another night spent on the cold ground in a drafty tent, and managed to convince the others of how deserving the four of them were of staying in nice stately rooms on the waterfront, in a cozy little inn, rather than at yet another encampment. Varric was in agreement of the notion, though Cassandra and Cullen were a bit reluctant at first. But after enough arm twisting, they entered the inn.

A lovely establishment. Not quite as decadent as some, but with more luxury than Skyhold. Plush red carpets. Beautiful golden chandeliers dropped from above. And the suites had their own bathing rooms, to their delight. But when they strolled up to the counter, the attendant in his bronze mask scoffed disgustingly at the four of them. "Apologies, masseurs, madame, but we do not cater to your kind," he said to them, to which they shared a confused glance.

"Our kind?" Cassandra questioned.

"Riffraff," he said, waving them off. "This establishment is not for such people like you, but for more respectable sorts. If you would be on your way, merci. Auvoir, à bientôt."

Dorian scoffed. "He obviously has no idea who we are," he said.

"It's not as if we cannot pay you," Cullen added.

Still, the man refused them, this time by turning his nose up at them.

Varric sighed and turned around to face them, Cullen and Cassandra not quite so surprised by the dismissal, but Dorian in an outrage. "You three wait over there. Let me handle this." He pointed to the lounge, and so they turned and walked away, leaving the rogue to employ that silver tongue of his to get them proper quarters for the night. Cassandra and Cullen regarded them both with their arms folded.

Dorian flopped down in a chair and sulked.

After a time, Varric returned hanging his head. "Sorry. He says they're full up for the night. No rooms available."

Cassandra scowled. "Bullshit," she scathed, to their shock. She straightened her stance, adjusted her collar, saying, "My turn." Then she marched up to the desk. They watched in amusement as the Seeker grabbed the attendant by the collar and yanked him closer, threatening the man, then finally letting him go with a huff, and turning to walk back to them, smirking. "There are only two rooms available, but they're ours for the night."

"Well done, Seeker," Dorian praised, then rubbed his hands together gleefully, rising to his feet, in better spirits. Varric stared up at the woman in part fear, part awe. It seemed the Seeker's temper worked in their favor for a change. Even Cullen came out of his cloud for a moment to smirk, impressed. "Well, looks like it will be just like our little camping trips, but with proper bedding, yes?" Dorian glanced at Cullen. "Shall we then?"

"I'll stay with Varric," he offered instead. "You and Cassandra can share a room."

Dorian sighed, but said nothing to that.

Nearby Cassandra glanced between both men.

She nervously chewed her lip in thought. She knew they'd yet to really speak at length about what happened after the Shrine of Dumat, and she had a terrible feeling Cullen was going to continue to avoid Dorian, rather than resolve things between them. "I don't mind sharing a room with Varric for another night," she said. Then she looked down at the dwarf in question. "If Varric doesn't mind?" _Maker I hope Varric can take a hint,_ she thought.

He slowly nodded. "I don't mind," he said.

"Good!" she smiled, handing them a key, then immediately dragged Varric away. "We'll be off then!"

Beside her Varric furrowed his brow in confusion. "What was that about?" he hissed.

"I'll explain later," she responded, and led him down the hall.

She left Dorian and Cullen standing there, with no choice but to room together that night. They shared a glance, both wondering what the other must be thinking, but slowly shuffled their feet and headed down the hall to their rented room. Cullen was dreading this really. Dorian had been nothing but brooding the entire trip, would hardly say two words to him, making him think it might be better they just went their separate ways.

He'd thought about it the entire trip. Thought about how they would move forward from here, when it clicked in his mind that in all likelihood they _wouldn't_. There was no moving forward, not after everything that happened. Cullen could never be the man Dorian deserved, not when he struggled enough just trying to be the man everyone praised him as on a daily basis. There was blood on his hands that would never wash away.

There would be no going back from this. He was foolish to think they ever could. Selfish to live in such a fantasy. Nevertheless, he followed Dorian to their room, across from Cassandra and Varric, then watched him unlock the door. Taking a deep breath, he followed him inside, then watched as Dorian explored the spacious room. It was much nicer than Dorian's own room at Skyhold, certainly better than Cullen's loft. With satin sheets and thick, luxurious throws.

A fire crackled in the hearth nearby, and after setting down his belongings on the trunk at the foot of the bed, Dorian opened a glass paneled door to reveal a balcony, one with an incredible view of the waterfront, dazzling them with moonlight reflecting off the water. He let out a sigh, admiring the view, then moved across the room to open another door, one that led to the bathing room, with a spacious porcelain tub, big enough for two.

For a moment, Cullen wondered if Dorian was now the most at home he'd even been since journeying to the south from Tevinter. Surely such luxuries were quite commonplace for the noble. It made the Commander feel terribly out of place, however. This was not a farmhouse in Honnleath, nor was it the Templars' barracks in the Circle, much less was it even anything like the guest room of the Chateau of the Comte de Val Chevin.

It was a step beyond anything Cullen had ever seen.

He slowly removed his armor plates, splaying everything neatly on a chair, while Dorian ran water for a bath. By the time the tub was filled, he came out to see Cullen had removed everything, and his cloak, though was still in his under armor, sitting on the chair, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the fire. He glanced at the bed. "Look's comfortable, doesn't it?" he remarked, to which Cullen nodded absently.

"It's all yours," he said. "I'll sleep on the floor."

And _that_ was the final straw to effectively irk the mage beyond recovery.

He gaped at the Commander in disbelief.

"Did I miss something?" he asked, cocking his head to the side in confusion. "Since when did you become my guard dog, exactly?"

Cullen hung his head as if beaten, and Dorian was tempted to do such a thing.

This cumbersome behavior of his had gone on long enough, and Dorian had just run out of patience.

"Dorian, I..." Cullen sighed, not knowing where to start, but knowing he needed to say something. Now, before he changed his mind. He needed to do this. "Dorian, we...need to end this," he said quietly, and dared to look up at him then.

Looked up to see the mage's eyes widen in shock.

"Come again?!" he asked, scarcely believing what he just heard.

"We...we can't do this anymore," Cullen told him. "You and me...us, Dorian, it has to end. Now, before it's too late."

"What do you mean 'before it's too late'?!" Dorian repeated, raging, clenching both fists in anger.

Cullen glanced away. "You deserve far better, Dorian, and you know that. The things I've done-"

"Are in the past," he interrupted. But Cullen resisted, shaking his head, shying away from Dorian when he edged closer. He watched Cullen's jaw tick, saw the irritation growing, and knew that if he argued, it might only anger the Commander further until he finally snapped. But Dorian was _tired_ of being patient with him. Tired of holding his tongue. "You can punish yourself all you like, darling, but I will not allow you to punish _me_ for this," he spat. "I'm not to blame!"

"I'm not trying to-"

"Don't!" Dorian interrupted. "You think you mean to spare me the hurt, do you? You're only sparing _yourself_! Like a Maker-forsaken _coward_ , Cullen! Closing off, shutting me out, because it's easier than _facing_ me!" Nearby the fireplace started to flash a little, the flames rising higher and burning hotter each time Dorian snapped at him, making Cullen nervous. "You're right, you've done many unforgivable things, Amatus, but this won't make them go away."

"Dorian please," he begged. "I don't want to lose you, but I can't be that man! I can't be what you want me to be."

"I think you and I have very separate ideas of just what sort of man I expect you to be," Dorian assessed, then reached for Cullen, cupping his face in his hands, forcing him to look up at him. He pulled away, but the mage would not allow it. "Look at me, Cullen!" he demanded, heatedly, moving to kneel before him, giving him no room to pull away. "Dammit, look at me. You can push me away all you like, Cullen, but I'm not going anywhere."

The Commander didn't react the way Dorian expected him to. Instead of lashing out angrily, or shoving him away, instead his face twisted as if he were in pain. "Dorian, stop," he pleaded, tears stinging his eyes.

"No!" Dorian barked. "No, I'm afraid I can't make it that easy for you."

"Dorian-"

"Hush," he told him, grazing his cheek affectionately with his thumb, wiping away the tears. "You're right, I _should_ hate you for everything you've done, but I _can't_. Perhaps it would be easier if I had seen the man you were before, or if I had never known you at all, but I _do_. I can't see the Templar in Kirkwall, Cullen, I can only see the man that stays up all night writing reports, yet still wakes at such an ungodly hour every morning to train recruits."

He paused for breath, steadying his voice.

"The man that knows he's made mistakes, and works to undo them," he said, and Cullen squeezed his eyes shut, more tears falling, trailing down his cheeks, unwilling to listen, but Dorian would make him hear it. "It would be easier if I could hate you, darling. If we could simply walk away from all this. But it's not _meant_ to be easy. So please, Cullen, I beg of you, stop pushing me away. Don't you care at all for me?"

Cullen sniffed a little. "Of course I do, but I-"

"Then don't do this to me, darling. Don't push me away. Please."

Cullen shook, every inch of his frame trembled as he fought to keep from releasing all the emotion pent up inside, choking back a sob. But eventually he could no longer hold it in and let go, reaching to wrap his arms tightly around Dorian, sobbing. "I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me," he pleaded in whispers between choked sobs, clinging to Dorian like a child, and Dorian pulled him close, letting him cry into his shoulder.

He closed his eyes and ran fingers soothingly through Cullen's hair. Affectionately rubbed his back. Then kissed his temple. He didn't know if he could forgive him still, but he knew he loved him.

All parts of him.

Even the unforgivable.

They stayed that way for a time, Cullen letting his tears fall, Dorian soothing him, until there was nothing left in the man to cry. Cullen clung tightly still, didn't want to move, struggled to look at Dorian, feeling ashamed, embarrassed, and unworthy of him still. But his love was right. If he pushed him away, he'd only hurt Dorian more. After a time, he breathed a ragged sigh, whispering, "I don't deserve you," to which Dorian clucked.

"Let me be the judge of that, Amatus," he murmured gently, ending that argument, then he pulled away a little. "Come. Let's go get cleaned up, shall we?"

Cullen jerked his head a little in a nod and allowed Dorian to pull him to his feet, then take him by the hand and lead him to the bathing room.

The water had gone cold, so Dorian summoned his mana, pouring it into a spell cast to reheat it, steam filling the enclosure. He turned and started to undo the fastenings of Cullen's shirt. He reached to stop him, but the mage only batted his hands away with the most stern expression, making Cullen sigh. He stubbornly continued, completely unfazed by the Commander. Once unbuttoned he peeled the shirt away and stepped closer.

Cullen was reluctant to let Dorian touch him, to let him be affectionate in any way, still feeling undeserving of the attention, but despite his recalcitrance, yet Dorian reached to pull him closer, preening strands of gold with his finger tips. "We'll get through this, darling," he promised. "It may take some time, but we will." He pecked him lovingly on the cheek, then continued undressing him, then ushered him into the tub.

He sunk down in the water slowly, wary of the temperature, but soon sighed in relief, the warmth working to uncoil the tense muscles of his frame. Dorian followed suit, undressing and then stepping into the water, settling across from Cullen, who had closed his eyes and sank deeper into the water, up to his neck. He wouldn't dare get his hair wet, however. He'd only taken necessities, and left his hair tonic back at Skyhold.

They were silent for a time, both rather reticent, but enjoying the silence, as there was no argument. Dorian entwined his legs with Cullen's in the water, ever determined to remain close in some form or other. Eventually his eyes closed as well and in companionable silence they stayed. But after a time, Dorian wasn't sure how long, he heard Cullen sigh and shift about across from him. Slowly he opened his eyes to see him staring.

"What?" he asked. Cullen bit his lip and looked away.

"I don't understand," he said. "After everything, you still want to be with me."

It was Dorian's turn to sigh. Indeed he did. At times it was hard, even for him, to understand why. There were times when it wasn't pleasant, when it made him want to tear his hair out. Even when they were only friends, there had been days Dorian could hardly stand Cullen. When his temper flared it was a menace to all of Skyhold, but especially a nuisance to those closest to the man. A nightmare to contend with in a relationship.

But Dorian was well aware of his own shortcomings. He knew he could be most unpleasant as well. It was a defence mechanism mostly, that he should be so garish with people on a daily basis. It was all the years he spent guarding himself from others. Never allowing anyone in, never letting them see his pain, nor did he make them aware of his true feelings. Better that he keep it locked away than risk allowing himself to be vulnerable.

But Cullen could always see right through him. He always seemed to know when Dorian needed comfort, and when he needed distance. As patient as he was for Cullen's temper tantrums, the Commander could be just as patient with Dorian when he was particularly bothersome. They always complimented one another in that respect. And despite their many differences, yet still, Cullen wanted to be with Dorian.

"I'm a _mage_ , darling," he said, by way of reply. "Capable of lighting this entire building on fire with the flick of my wrist, yes? And yet, despite that, of all people you wanted to be with, you chose me."

Cullen huffed a little, shifting around on his side of the tub, and said, "It's not the same thing."

Dorian lifted his head, then his entire frame, splashing water when he surged across the tub and climbed onto Cullen's lap, straddling him, and surprising him in the process. He wrapped his arms around him and said, "But do you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

"You wouldn't have. Not before. But things change, don't they?" He caressed the Commander's jaw. "You're not the man you used to be. And I trust you as well. I may not like what you've done in the past, but until you start branding innocent mages Tranquil once more," Cullen flinched at that, but it needed to be said, "Cullen I will continue to trust you. Until you've given me a sound reason not to. You won't do that, will you?"

Cullen shook his head. "No. But Dorian, love, I don't want to hurt you-"

"Hush," he said, gently pecking his lips with a kiss. "Enough talk for now. We've been apart far too long, Amatus. Let's make up for lost time, shall we?"

Cullen hadn't the willpower to resist him at that sultry tone. He felt so good in his arms, and he was right of course, they'd been apart far too long. Cullen missed this. Quite easily he gave in, and allowed Dorian to molest him with that beautiful mouth of his. He'd already been partially hard, since the moment Dorian climbed onto him, his body remembering the many pleasures wrought by the mage's touch, but now he was steadily growing harder.

He wanted inside him– _badly_ –and was rather anxious to be so. But he was still leery about ever taking control in that respect. Sometimes he never knew what Dorian wanted and could only guess at it, but he knew he was free to touch, to run his hands along his thighs, squeeze his perfect arse, pull him closer, as close as possible in that confined space. Tentatively he reached to slide a finger between both cheeks, marking his intentions.

Dorian gave no complaint, and so he carefully pressed in a finger, feeling him inhale sharply in response. The water of their bath made a poor substitute for more sufficient lubricant, but the lovely sounds Dorian made in response to how Cullen began his practice of slowly breaking him apart with his fingers worked to encourage him. After a time, he withdrew and instead slipped in his cock, driving the mage absolutely wild.

Water sloshed out of the tub and spilled across the floor as Dorian rode him, gradually picking up pace, moans becoming louder in volume. It didn't take Cullen long to find release, as it had been so long since he'd had the pleasure of Dorian's touch, or even his own. But he was determined to satisfy his love, and fucked through his orgasm, harder and deeper, fighting tooth and nail to stay hard inside him.

Once employing the use of his hand on Dorian's neglected cock, his release was soon to follow. He came so intensely it almost hurt, and left him in tatters, slumping against Cullen in the tub. Mumbling incoherent nothings in Tevene. The Commander desperately wished to know what they meant, but could imagine, listening to the softness, the tenderness of Dorian's alluring voice, murmuring his native tongue in between kisses.

Indeed it was soft, tender things he whispered. All the things he would tell his Beloved, had he the courage to say them in common. All the ways in which he loved Cullen dearly. All the ways he made him smile, laugh, feel wanted. As he kissed his lips, his jaw, his neck and shoulder, he whispered his love for the battered, broken former Templar. He apologized profusely on behalf of every wicked mage that ever struck fear in Cullen's heart.

And he forgave him for all the ways he'd hurt Dorian recently.

He might not be able to grant Cullen the clemency he so desired, but he could give him that much.

"It will be alright, darling," he told him in Common, them kissed his throbbing temple. Feeling him exhale in relief. 

Then he held him close, reluctant to wash properly and leave the tub, content to keep him there until the water started getting cold. When Cullen started complaining of it, he warmed it with his magic, causing Cullen to laugh a little. "So _you're_ the reason your quarters always stay so unbearably hot, aren't you?" he asked, and Dorian smirked and nodded. Cullen huffed a little. "Maybe you _are_ dangerous. You'll surely suffocate me one day."

Dorian eyed him incredulously, then shifted so he could drag Cullen under, submerging him completely, causing him to choke and sputter when he popped back up. He coughed and narrowed his eyes at Dorian, who was smiling, right up until Cullen exacted revenge and dunked him in the water next. It was Dorian's turn to sputter. Cullen laughed, and while Dorian was furious–his hair was ruined now–it was hard to stay mad at that smile.

He never thought he'd have the pleasure of witnessing that smile again. How he'd missed it so.

"You're such a child," he huffed.

"I'm the child?" he questioned, disbelievingly.

"My hair is ruined now."

"As is mine."

"But you look _good_ with wet hair."

"As do you."

Dorian scoffed at that. But then Cullen edged closer, til they were nose to nose.

"You are..." He sighed, having not the words to describe Dorian. Except for maybe one. "Amazing," he sighed. "Always."

Well. How could Dorian possibly stay angry at _that_?

He melted at such words, and dove at Cullen, knocking him backwards, launching them into a ravenous kiss.

For that time, the world outside fading away, as if it never existed.

Both in a better place, _together_.

And there was no better place to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! They didn't break up!
> 
> But don't get too comfortable folks, Hilamshiral is coming up soon, and the boys are in for one helluva time!
> 
> So, this will probably be my last update until after the holidays, but have no fear, I will be writing in my free time when I'm able, so hopefully I'll have consistent updating after January 1st.
> 
> Happy [Insert Holiday Here]!! :D
> 
> -SB


	30. Puzzling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dynamic duo make their way to Hilamshiral, and Cullen is confronted by the Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Here, have some monologue, with minor angst.

Cullen had the misfortune of suffering comments on his unruly hair all the way across the channel to Lydes. As he hadn't the tonic he normally used to straighten it, his golden locks were wild and uncontrollable on his head. Though in no small part due to Dorian's attentions, at least they weren't tightly coiled corkscrews close to his scalp, but rather his hair was just overly wavy, as the Altus brought a small bottle of styling cream, tucked in his saddle bag.

He was grateful for his lover's assistance on that front. However, to the Commander's dismay, the cream he used smelled of _lavender_. While it was rather complimentary on one so beguiling as Dorian Pavus, Cullen was not convinced the Commander of the Inquisition should ever traipse about smelling like flowers. Comments first flew from the storyteller's mouth, but then eventually from Cassandra's as well. She too now understood Varric's nickname.

But he took their humorous antics in stride. They meant no ill, were merely jibing to keep the four of them in good spirits. And it was far better than the endless silence that had gone on for so many days away from Skyhold. There were moments in between that were a tad awkward still, as so much had transpired to alter them, but it mostly worked to bring them closer. In fact, for the first time in quite a long time, Cullen genuinely felt surrounded by friends.

Indeed, things were not as he'd anticipated. He'd thought if anything they would've distanced themselves from Cullen, in resignation. Maybe not Cassandra, as she more than any of them understood Cullen's jaded history with the Templar Order, but he never expected to finally reach an understanding with Varric. He had been gravely wrong in his many assumptions. And Dorian, ever the stubborn one, refused to allow Cullen to lose sight of that.

There was much he would not allow the man to lose sight of. Much he was ever determined to ingrain in the warrior. And, albeit reluctantly, Cullen was conceding to Dorian's point. He was right. As always. Cullen was not the man he used to be. Perhaps not yet the man he aspired to be, but he was foolish to think there were any trace of the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall yet lingering. Were he still that man, he would not be so deeply in love with Dorian Pavus.

A mage from Tevinter.

His love. His world. A _mage_.

A concept so foreign, that he never would have considered four years ago, was now his norm, and his eyes had finally been opened to just how narrow his mind had been.

And just how different things were now.

Cullen had his doubts of a few things still, but if there was one thing he knew without a single doubt, it was that he loved Dorian, and would die before he ever let him pay for his past mistakes. He'd never felt like this before, with anyone; that was how he knew what he felt must be real, and to be the cause of strife for Dorian was more than Cullen could bear. So he suffered the jokes about his hair with utmost grace, if only to see the mage's rakish smile.

Anything for his happiness. Dignity be damned.

Regretting only that he'd ever attempted to push Dorian away.

In this fashion, they ferried across the channel and made port in Lydes, but from there they would not be making their way across the Dales. Instead, they would be traveling north, to Hilamshiral. They were contacted by an agent who'd been sent ahead of the Inquisitor and the two remaining advisers, and were informed of the peace talks commencing that week at the Winter Palace. A date had been set, as all sides of the war were finally at an impasse.

So there they would meet, the four of them with Josephine, Leliana, and Ellana, then the lot of them would prepare for the upcoming ball, and the Inquisition's agenda that evening. They'd been invited by Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, and would attend purely under the guise of peacekeeping during negotiations. Though likely Gaspard would expect their support, they had no intention of interfering with the peace talks, nor of favoring any side in their civil war.

While the Inquisition was originally an Orlesian institution, currently they held no such loyalties to the Empire alone, but operated independently, with private financing. Given amnesty within Orlesian borders as they acted in the interests of what remained of the Chantry, but not necessarily in their interests alone. Given that same amnesty within Ferelden as well. The Inquisition could be a threat to both as easily as it was a blessing.

But the night of the ball, they would attend the gathering with intention of securing Celene's safety, in the hopes of rooting out and exposing the Venatori's hired assassin with a contract on the Empress. Even Gaspard had his concerns. Of course, this was their number one reason to suspect Gaspard himself, Leliana was sure to mention. His suspicions of a possible plot against his cousin was too much of a coincidence to rule out his involvement in the affair.

He was a somewhat esteemed figure, by _Orlesian_ standards. As far as Cullen could tell with his limited knowledge and understanding of the Grand Game. But based on his conquests, he was also ambitious. Such a quality gave them pause. His vie for the throne gave him motive enough, but his tactics insofar made him least likely to be in league with the Venatori. They'd yet to find a connection between the two that would substantiate such a claim.

Though he wasn't the only suspect, nor was he their only source of information. But he was their official contact, and their host for part of their extended stay in the city. The moment they neared its borders, all that weightlessness Cullen had been experiencing suddenly dissipated, and his brow furrowed once more, mouth set in a grim line, in tense preparation for the serious mission ahead of them. All joviality wiped clean, sadly.

As expected, it was Val Chevin all over again, only with Varric added to the mix. What was sure to be an interesting development if nothing else, in the Altus' opinion. Dorian had seen Varric charm the nobles of Skyhold with tales of his adventures, and he'd seen the rogue drop demons and Red Lyrium monstrosities with that crossbow of his. But he'd never seen the storyteller mystify the Orlesian court with his dry wit and cynicism. Could to be entertaining.

Dorian was hardly looking forward to yet again the menagerie of laced petticoats and flavorless pie, but he was so happy he and Cullen were speaking again. Enough that he was aware that Cullen's sudden shift in mood was due to upcoming events, and not in any way caused by Dorian himself. Knew this as Cullen, true to his way, was certain to complain under his breath the whole ride through the rolling hills of Orlesian countryside in bloom.

The Imperial Highway opened to a volley of farmsteads and remote villages, quaint subsets of Hilamshiral dotting the landscape leading to the city proper. Most of the surrounding land had been ravaged by the elves that rebelled against the Empire, and the deserters calling themselves the Freemen of the Dales. Much of the territory had been stabilized by the Inquisitor and their agents, but what was left in their wake was coarse and arid landscape.

They met with the Inquisition's entourage on the outskirts of the city. The Ambassador was never one for horseback riding, and so she traveled cordially so, in a horse drawn carriage, with Ellana and Leliana, as well as select pages from Skyhold to assist them on their journey. She arranged their stay at a stately inn, and urged they rest before meeting for a private dinner to discuss their mission and finalize any details before attending the ball.

It was nice to see familiar faces after the sea of masked figures scattered across Orlais, but all four of them, especially Cullen, tensed when Ellana stepped out of the carriage and down into the street as their mounts reared to a halt by the inn. The Commander hesitated before handing the reins of his forder off to a stable hand, then stood rigidly as the Inquisitor and company approached. The last he saw Ellana, she was disgusted by him.

Perfectly content to let him go after Samson on his own, not caring if he lived or died.

Not that he could blame her, but for some reason, staring down at the blue eyed vixen, who eyed him disdainfully, he felt very small. He masked his trepidation behind an emotionless stare as she approached them. Putting Leliana's trained indifference to utter shame. No doubt they would speak of what happened, and no doubt Cullen would despise every minute in her presence, but he was relieved so many trusted friends stood between them to buffer.

He was momentarily distracted by Dorian nearby arguing with a young man about his screeching dracolisk, mostly his concerns about having his hand bitten off by the scaly brute, before cold, somber eyes shifted back to their elven Inquisitor, whose gaze was equally frozen. She said not a word, and so neither did he, both electing to mutely follow Josephine and Leliana inside the inn to be shown to their adjoining rooms.

They each relished in the privacy, after so many days spent in close quarter. Cullen was loathe to part with his armor for safety's sake, but did so for comfort's, thought he was never without wherewithal, and always kept a knife in his boot when foregoing a sword dangling at his hip. Dorian, in contrast, was most eager to strip out of the ghastly apparel he'd worn, and most happy to lock up his room and venture to their private parlor in only a tunic and trousers.

There, the others waited, lounging by the fire, his Beloved, along with a red faced storyteller, both elbow deep in their drinks, slouching in red velvet wingbacks. Cassandra was standing by the elaborate fireplace next to Leliana, sharing in hushed conversation with the Nightingale. And their frilled Ambassador sat primly on the couch next to Ellana, sharing the _hors d'oeuvres_ on a pewter tray set before them, resting on a stylish little trestle.

He fought the urge to simply climb into Cullen's lap in the wingback right in front of everyone and approached the wine cabinet, pouring himself a glass of stout brandy from a remarkable crystal decanter. He could not give Orlesians much in the way of taste, but he could certainly credit them for aesthetics and atmosphere. He then joined the Seeker and their Spymaster by the fire, and aptly listened to all she and their lovely Ambassador had to discuss.

Cullen got his wish, and would indeed play guard dog at the ball. Mostly stay near the entrances and exits as he mingled, keeping an eye out for suspicious characters. Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra would be expected to assist the Inquisitor should the need arise and they should be thrust into a combat situation. Not that they anticipated such things. Josephine was quite certain they could discover the assassin simply by their cunning play of the Game.

She and their masterful sleuth would contend with the many dignitaries that would be present, running interference and providing distraction when necessary. All in all, provided everything went according to plan, their night would be largely uneventful. Mostly loitering, gossiping, and eavesdropping, picking apart remarks and gestures for any signs of foul play or ill intent. Much the usual for political soirees with the masked figures of high society.

Then came the time they were served supper in the inn's quaint little dining hall reserved for its guests.

At first, conversation consisted mostly of talk of the ball still. Josephine and Leliana gossiping about the many noble ladies and gents that would be attending. Cassandra was quickly swept into a story Varric told about his time in Kirkwall, something not previously mentioned in his book. Cullen was all but completely silent throughout the evening. For once, not having so much as a complaint about being forced to attend another party.

Leliana noted his odd, uncharacteristic behavior with a brow arched in curiosity. She thought surely Cullen would have something to say about the evening. But not a word one was uttered from his lips about the Winter Palace, beyond what was necessary. She'd heard the whole story from her spies, knew exactly what happened at the Shrine of Dumat. She surmised it would take some time before the Commander was completely back to his old self after that.

Well, if he _ever_ went back to normal, should she say.

She glanced at Ellana at the head of the table, who was leaning back in her seat, digesting her meal as the others talked around her. Spying Cullen out of the corner of her eye, though no longer did she stare longingly at the former Templar, but instead her eyes were filled with pure hatred. She did not enjoy one minute of being confronted with Cullen's past. The Spymaster imagined she would never look upon Cullen kindly ever again after all that.

It was understandable. The Commander had committed many heinous acts as Knight-Captain of Kirkwall's Circle. So 'affectionately' dubbed the Gallows. There were many sins to atone for. But, much like Dorian, Leliana could not gaze upon the man and see a monster. Not when she more than anyone there at that table knew of what the man had suffered in his life. And Kirkwall was no secret, not to anyone from the Free Marches. Everyone knew of what happened there.

It was simply that Ellana was so young, and so inexperienced, so enamored by Cullen that it deluded her, and when confronted face to face with the ugly truth she wanted to deny, she was traumatized by it.

She quietly sipped her wine as the night carried on, listening to Varric and Josephine's stories.

Leliana wondered of Dorian though. In contrast to Ellana's aloofness toward Cullen, the Tevinter Altus seemed to have gone through a separate metamorphosis entirely since leaving Skyhold. He was softer when he spoke, quieter, that much was most immediately obvious, but his glances spared at the dashing Commander held a different emotion than Ellana's derisive glares. His relationship with the Commander was forever changed, evidently.

But his eyes had a fondness to them still, as did his smile.

But things took a turn for the worst, right after dessert was served.

Heads swiveled when the Inquisitor loudly cleared her throat.

"Commander? May I have a word with you? _Privately_?" she requested, and all eyes turned to Cullen, who had paused with a bite of _gâteau de mille-feuille_ halfway to his mouth, eyes narrowed suspiciously at the Inquisitor. He set down his fork, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, then curtly rose from the table with a scowl. _So much for buffering_ , Cullen thought. Ellana, who had also risen from the table, led him out of the dining hall and down the corridor.

Behind them, their companions shared glances, before all eyes rested on Dorian, who looked as if he'd explode like fuse-lit gaatlok at Ellana's words, but was desperately trying to mask it. Judging by her expression, it didn't appear as if Ellana meant to accost the Commander again, but that didn't mean she wouldn't give him a sound lashing of the tongue, or manage to incite his temper. They held their breath for angry barks, not a one of them uttering a single word.

Out in the hall, Cullen stood rigidly with his arms folded, towering over the lithe elven woman before him, desperately wishing he'd donned his armor. Not that he was incapable, nor did he fear being attacked by Ellana, but he did feel unusually weak and defenseless in her presence without it. There was nothing between them now, not their companions, nor their armor, nothing but shreds of fabric and the few paces in which they stood apart.

Ellana matched his stance and folded slender arms across her chest, then stared up into his cold emotionless eyes. To her, it looked as if he didn't feel even the slightest bit guilty at all, and she fought the urge to shudder in thought of how many innocent mages he'd tortured and branded. Tried desperately to remain fierce on the exterior and not show weakness. But he looked wickedly handsome that night, especially with this new hairstyle of his.

The way those golden locks of his curled softly, framing his features, set her ablaze, especially that one single curl that hung down over his forehead of its own accord. No matter what he did, she was still attracted to him, there was no doubt of that. But that wouldn't change what happened, and they needed to talk about it. She'd thought about it ever since leaving Ghilain, and couldn't take it anymore. They needed closure. She needed to speak her peace.

"What did you wish to discuss, Inquisitor?" Cullen asked, and Ellana flinched a little at the formal way he spoke. As if he didn't have any feelings for her whatsoever, which was hurtful. She didn't know why, when she'd never had any expectations of a serious relationship, or feelings between them, but nevertheless, to her surprise, it wounded her that he was so detached. She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak.

"Why did you never tell me of what happened in Kirkwall?" she asked him, and he sighed, looking away, expecting that question. "How could you keep a secret like that from everyone?"

When he met her gaze once more, there was some emotion in his eyes then, but she couldn't tell what precisely. "That was never a secret, Your Worship," he corrected. "I simply didn't speak of it. I had chosen instead to put it behind me, rather than dwell on the past. To concentrate on what lie ahead of me, rather than fixate on things I couldn't change. But I see now that my actions will follow me no matter where I go."

And he was resentful of that, but as Varric, Cassandra, and Dorian impressed upon him, _repeatedly_ , he was on a better path now, becoming a better man, overcoming that tragedy. Of course, seeing the reproval in Ellana's eyes made him rethink that. It would seem no matter how hard he tried, Kirkwall would always linger...just as Kinloch lingered in his dreams. A nightmare in the Fade, matched with one upon waking: the monster Meredith made of him.

"You said you _tortured_ people," she hissed vehemently, Lyrium eyes glittering with emotion. "Innocent mages that didn't deserve your unfair treatment. How could you do that?! _Why_ would you do that, Cullen?!"

He flexed his jaw, fighting the instinct to snap angrily at her. Eyes squeezed shut and fists closed tightly in his ire, knuckles turning white.

 _Maker's breath, where's Dorian when I need him?_ he thought.

But there was no one coming to rescue him, not Dorian, not Varric, nor anyone. It was just him, and Ellana, alone in that hallway. And Cullen without the ability to ward himself. He could take on any enemy the Maker threw at him, but discussing his feelings, and his past, were things he was very poor at dealing with. At least Dorian understood that, because he was much the same; he absolutely _hated_ discussing his feelings, kept them bottled up tight.

Well, mostly.

Cullen could root them out if he dug deep enough.

But how could he even begin to explain his actions when Ellana was right? There was no defending himself against her anger, no excuses he could make. There was only what he'd done, and how deeply he regretted committing those terrible acts. Sounding much like a mocking jay at this point, he repeated that phrase that so often filtered through his head. "I'm not the man I used to be, Inquisitor. Things have changed. But perhaps now you see why I left the Order."

She gazed up at him in realization then. "That's...that's why you stopped taking Lyrium?" she asked. Then she suddenly wondered if maybe it had been the _Lyrium_ that made Cullen do those things. If it wasn't Lyrium making all Templars corrupt. After all, their addiction to Lyrium made them so easily swayed by Samson, because they desperately craved it, so much so that they were willing to be tainted with Red Lyrium just to get their fix.

Only the rare few, like Ser Rylen, and Ser Lysette, had been able to resist such temptations. Because their convictions were strong, and they were well provided for by the Inquisition. Perhaps Cullen had been a victim as well, that he followed Meredith's orders driven by his addiction, convinced he would only suffer, maybe even die, going without Lyrium. She couldn't be quite so angry with him when she considered that. But still...

"You've done a lot of terrible things," she said, attempting to remain aloof, but struggling. "And nothing will change that...But, now I understand why you stopped taking Lyrium, why you don't want that life anymore. I...respect that," she admitted quietly. "I...that's all I have to say."

She turned and walked away from him, taking a deep breath to still her racing heart.

She was the first to return to the dining hall, her companions all eyeing her curiously, wondering what she said to Cullen. They could wonder all they like, but she didn't plan on talking about it. In fact, all she wanted to do was head up to her room and fall into bed. "I'm heading to bed," she told everyone. "Goodnight," she added, then left them, sparing a side-glance Cullen's direction as he was next to enter the dining hall, and bear their scrutiny.

Dorian saw him when he entered, saw the tension in his shoulders, the defeated look in his amber eyes, and instantly wanted to strangle Ellana.

All that brilliance in Cullen that Dorian had been fighting tooth and nail to restore...it was gone.

All that hope, and Ellana had effectively crushed it.

How that angered Dorian _immensely_.

Cullen resumed his seat at the table without saying a word, snatching his drink and downing it in one shot, stewing morosely for the rest of the evening.

Later that night, Dorian snuck out of his room to knock on the door next to his. Josephine was kind enough to get them rooms beside one another, though they were separate. So he tiptoed down the hall and knocked softly on Cullen's door, then waited patiently for an answer. It didn't take long. Cullen was still awake, and opened the door with a frown. It had been deeper, until he realized it was Dorian coming to call on him, and he relaxed a little.

He let him in, then returned to the spot on the rug in front of the hearth where he'd been pacing, wearing a path into the carpet, brooding. Immediately, Dorian dove headfirst into conversation with, "Whatever she said to you, she's wrong, Cullen."

To which Cullen only sighed, saying, "I wish it were so, love."

"Meaning?"

"This time, she was right," he said, leading the mage to the conclusion that while Ellana obviously said some hurtful things, they were truthful things. Or, they were true to Cullen's slightly askewed thinking. Confirmed, when he said, "She said now she understands why I wished to cut all ties from the Order, why I stopped taking Lyrium. But...at least she won't question that decision anymore. She told me she respects it."

"Well, there's looking on the bright side, I suppose," Dorian shrugged, then stepped closer, reaching for Cullen, who stopped pacing and allowed him to pull him into his arms. "Stop fretting, Amatus. We'll get through this."

Cullen's eyes darted over his features for a moment, soaking in everything from his tawny skin, to his twirling mustache, and everything in between. "Why do you want to be with me?" he blurted suddenly, confused, and so was Dorian, wondering precisely where that question came from. The most immediate answer Dorian wanted to give was, "Because I love you," But he couldn't bring himself to say the words. But Cullen needed reassurance.

"There are plenty of reasons to be with you," Dorian answered, enigmatically, to which Cullen snorted, disbelievingly.

He was hurting still, and desperate from something in his life to make sense. Whatever Ellana said to him in private worked to drive the blade in deeper, metaphorically speaking. It obviously hadn't helped to resolve the issue, only made him feel more guilty than already he'd been feeling. What Dorian wouldn't _give_ to see Ellana knocked down a peg or two. "Like what?" Cullen questioned. "I just don't understand it sometimes. I...I don't understand _you_."

 _Unless he really does only want me for sex,_ Cullen thought. But he knew better.

"What's not to understand?"

Cullen thought about that and then sighed, running fingers through that wild hair of his with a mind of its own. "I don't know. I just...sometimes, when I look at my reflection, I still see that Knight-Captain." He tugged at his curly hair. "Especially now. And I know others do. That's what Maddox saw. He recognized Ellana as Inquisitor, but he didn't address me as Commander. He called me Captain. _Knight-Captain_ Cullen. I wonder if there's just simply no escaping it."

Dorian chewed his lip a little. "Yes, well, be that as it may, my dear, you know that isn't what _I_ see."

Cullen huffed. "I'll never understand you."

"Hmph, well, maybe I simply enjoy being _mysterious_ , darling," he quipped, smirking, and Cullen shook his head at that remark.

Then regarded Dorian for a moment before saying, "Well, I suppose that's why we're friends then," with a smirk, some of his mood lightening, and his cloud lifting. "You like being a puzzle, and I find I rather like solving them."

Dorian chuckled at that. "Perhaps one day you just might," he purred, then leaned in for a kiss.

Then he too brushed fingers through Cullen's golden mane. He hadn't the courage to say those three little words, but he did manage to say, "I love your hair."

"Well that makes one of us," Cullen mumbled, before pulling Dorian closer.

Content to hold his puzzling love a little longer before saying goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a slight obsession with Cullen's hair, and I _totally_ understand the curly/wavy hair frustration.
> 
> Oddly enough it was what I disliked about Cullen when I first played Dragon Age. (Was never really into blondes or redheads, or any color in between those two.) So I went for Blackwall, Dorian, Cass or Josie. Then I found out more about Cullen's personality and back story and I fell in love. (Despite the hair)
> 
> Can't say for sure I'm a Cullenite, but I'm totally 100% a Dragonite! (Is that a thing? It should be a thing)


	31. A Grand Affair - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Don't try the ham, darling. It tastes of despair."_
> 
> \---
> 
> Cullen and Dorian attend the ball in Hilamshiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I disappeared on everyone like that. Real life kind of got in the way of updating. Didn't mean to make anyone worry. Plus I had to go back and replay the Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts quest for this. It was particularly hard to write this chapter because I'm so used to writing this from the Inquisitor's perspective, as most of it _is_ from that, and I wanted to do more of the "behind the scenes". Also, I'm going to have to scale back from daily updates to _weekly_ ones, because there's a lot of stuff going on right now. Anyway, enjoy.
> 
> -SB

Five sets of eyes glanced down at a clothing chest as Josephine and Leliana opened it, revealing the bundles of red and blue cloth stitched to leather padding, complete with gloves and boots fit to their size. Then five sets of eyes shared curious looks with one another. Cullen, Dorian, Cassandra, Varric and Ellana all eyed the box of matching apparel with bewilderment, as their Spymaster and Ambassador gave award winning smiles.

"What...are these, exactly?" Dorian questioned, lip curling almost in disgust at the clothes. Josephine scowled at him, crossing her arms, slightly offended by his disapproval.

"Inquisition uniforms," she huffed, to which Cullen and Cassandra lifted a brow, slightly pleased with this. No ball gowns meant the Seeker of Truth would not be forced to navigate the Winter Palace while dragging yards of fabric, and Cullen was equally relieved by the lack of frills that men of Orlais tended to adorn themselves with. No feathery hats, nor any bedazzling masks either. Simply jackets with sashes, and the Inquisition's symbol.

"We are a military force," the Ambassador reminded, "And in the eyes of the Imperial Court, we must appear as a united front. They will be searching out our weaknesses, and we must not reveal them. A good start to the Game is a strong constitution."

"As well as should things get a little out of hand, and we're forced to fight, we won't be caught in cumbersome dress," Leliana added.

This suited the Commander just fine, and so he nodded his approval.

Dorian however didn't care for the unflattering material that would no doubt wash him out, but to his surprise, Ellana looked less pleased than him. Obviously her taste of high society at the Comte's little party in Val Chevin left a bit of a mark on the Inquisitor. And obviously she had been looking forward to shedding her simple Dalish ways and dressing elegantly for the ball. She had assumed that since it was a masquerade, she would wear a dress.

Dorian couldn't help but be a little smug over her disappointment, and suddenly he wasn't so resentful of that evening's attire.

"Quick question," Varric piped up. "Where are we going to hide our weapons in those?"

"I've handled that," said the Spymaster. "Agents will be sent ahead with them, to stash them in an unseen area of the palace, should we have need of them."

"But hopefully we won't," said Josephine.

"Hmm, hopefully," Cullen agreed. "But can you guarantee our agents' access?"

"There are entrances to the servants' wings that can be utilized," Leliana assured, and again, Cullen nodded.

With no further argument to make, they were each handed their respective uniforms, tailored to their various sizes, and sent to their rooms to dress for the occasion. Dorian fussed over his hair in the mirror with a scowl after dressing, less than pleased with the way the scratchy uniform lay against his poor, innocent skin. It was such a travesty that he could hardly stand the sight of it, but once exiting his room, seeing Cullen step out of his, he blinked rapidly.

It may have been a shabby affair, but on Cullen, Josephine's fashion was positively marvelous. He filled it out perfectly, and Dorian let himself be caught staring in wonder. "Is...is something wrong?" Cullen asked him, checking over his attire to see if perhaps a buckle was undone, or maybe his shirt was untucked. He patted himself down, then absently felt his hair. He'd wet it down, lacquered and combed it away from his face in attempt to look presentable.

He looked...well, dashing, of course.

And at the mere sight of him, Dorian was falling all over again.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Cullen asked, and slowly Dorian smiled.

"You look fine, darling," he assured, and the Commander breathed a sigh of relief. But he still looked slightly abash, and his cluenessness was so adoring to the Altus he thought he might die. "Shall we then?" he offered, gesturing down the hall.

They walked side by side, matching in stride, all the way down the hall, eventually joining the others and exiting the establishment. Josephine had rented a second carriage to compensate for so many travelers, so Dorian happily slid into the cushioned seat beside the Commander and across from Varric and Cassandra. They were quickly swept into conversation, hardly given a moment of silence during the ride to the palace at the other end of the city.

Cullen was grateful for it. It proved a well enough distraction to take his mind off of upcoming events. They'd spent so many months planning for this evening that he shouldn't be so worried as he was now, but nevertheless he constantly pulled at his collar in angst, dreading the peace talks. But he'd spent so much time with Varric, Cassandra and Dorian in the last few weeks that he no longer struggled to hold conversation with current company.

He was free to pull at his collar and fret without judgement, for across from him, so did his companions. "Why so glum, Varric?" Dorian asked, after the third or fourth time Varric rubbed his temples and grumbled under his breath. "You're a famous writer, surely you'll be quite popular at the party."

"Not here in Orlais, Sparkler," he corrected. "According to my editor, my books don't sell here like they do back home."

"Well, then you'll be a stranger," remarked Cassandra. "No one will pay any attention to you, which means you'll blend in easier. And no one will accost you for autographs."

"Nope, just turn their nose up at the dwarf crashing their party," he groused.

"Well, better to be a dwarf than an evil Tevinter Magister," Dorian quipped. "Surely everyone will run screaming once I'm announced at the ball."

Cassandra huffed at that. "No one will run screaming from you, Dorian," she told him, with an eyeroll.

"They will once he opens his mouth," Varric chirped brightly, and Dorian scowled. So did Cassandra. Beside Dorian, Cullen chuckled under his breath.

"I beg to differ," he rumbled, casting a side-glance Dorian's direction.

Cassandra gaped for a moment, before clapping a hand over her mouth and blushing heatedly when she realized what Cullen meant by that. Beside her Varric winced, palming his face. "I really didn't need to know that," he mumbled behind his hand. Dorian lifted a brow at his Beloved's candid remark, as Cullen folded his arms and smirked. They shared a look–a rather _steamy_ look–before the subject was changed and conversation moved elsewhere.

They were accompanied by a small armed escort, to precede them in arrival. Only a handful of men, just enough to give the impression that indeed they were a small force to be reckoned with. The presence of soldiers wasn't so much for their safety as it was for the benefit of intimidation. The Inquisition would not be swayed, or so the Ambassador would like the Court to believe. That they were–as she coined it–a united military front.

Ellana and Josephine were the first to exit their carriage and to be led through the palace gates, where almost immediately the Inquisitor was accosted by the Grand Duke himself. She'd yet to meet him in person until now, and was a little nonplussed by the man. He wore a mask of course, but she had expected a portly Count, much like the Comte de Chevin. With a ruffled collar and heeled boots, but that wasn't what she received.

He wore armor. It was rather fanciful, and expensive looking, but he was not covered in lacy frilly garments, and he seemed rather physically fit. He had been a Chevalier, a skilled fighter, and would likely be a challenge as an opponent. She schooled her eyes to keep them from wandering over him and sizing him up as he formally greeted her and launched them into conversation. Or, to say she kept her eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke.

His words were careful, but were surprisingly forthright for an Orlesian, especially an heir to the throne, and he claimed to despise the Game. She had to give him credit for that. She detested it as well. He could be lying, but everything about his body language suggested he felt constricted behind that mask, rather than content to hide behind it. He was rather snide, but he was not flirtatious in the least, unlike the Comte had been.

Seemed to find it comical that the Inquisition's infamous Herald should be proceeded by the Empire's 'usurper'. Indeed, it was a stroke of irony. Seemed neither of them were particularly welcome. But that didn't necessarily make him an ally either. He had much to gain by Celene's assassination, and Ellana wasn't so dull as to forget the corrispondance between the Duke and the Comte de Chevin, or the incriminating letter they found that could've led to disaster.

Whatever the Duke's motives, they might not be friendly.

At least he didn't make any demeaning remarks on the fact that she was elven. Though he immediately pointed the finger at Ambassador Briala to disrupt proceedings, and while it seemed typical that a human should blame an elf for everything, his argument was sound. After all, it was Briala and her elven allies that currently rebelled against Celene's rule. The two were rumored to have once been lovers, and perhaps it was a scorned woman's retribution.

She would have a lot to gain as well, should Celene be assassinated tonight. The elves of Orlais would be free, and with the Empire in shambles, they'd have the chance to win this war, and gain the upper hand for a change. For that reason, Ellana was tempted to let this agent succeed, and kill Celene. But the fact that it was a Venatori agent they were looking for made her hesitate. She learned in Redcliffe that if Celene was killed, Corypheus also gained from it.

She couldn't let Corypheus win that easily.

But according to her advisers, Gaspard had been the next in line to rule Orlais, until Celene maneuvered the throne from underneath him by gaining the favor of the Council of Heralds. If there was one thing Ellana understood, it was the bounds of inheritance. Had she been elected to lead her clan, then suddenly a cousin of hers stole the position from her, she would be resentful of that. By all legal rights, Gaspard should be Emperor, as it were.

Whether anyone liked it or not.

She was sure to keep her replies to his statements light, vague and impartial before parting, then mingled with the guests in the gardens while Josephine waited by the main entrance to the palace. As she mingled, her companions were led inside the vestibule and gathered. Cassandra felt faint surrounded by so many gilded, decadent nobles, and had a terrible feeling that should one of them accost her that evening, she'd make an embarrassing scene.

She absolutely hated pompous nobility, and would love nothing more than to chase them about with her sword, send them running and screaming, but would not dare make such a fool of herself before the Empress of Orlais. She, after all, had been dubbed a Hero to Orlais, and had been devoutly loyal to the Sunburst Throne, before Justinia's passing. The Inquisition's alliance with Orlais was too valuable to take so lightly. Surely it was worth the effort.

So she kept her thoughts to herself and lightly dabbed her sweating forehead with a gloved hand, feeling naked without armor.

Beside her Varric folded his arms and surveyed the vestibule with keen eye. A few people must have recognized him, for they spotted him and then immediately turned and whispered to one another conspiratorially. The women giggled and blushed behind their masks, smiling coyly. He didn't expect to have amassed any sort of fame in Orlais, as his editor had told him how poorly his books sold in the country. He silently brooded over that with a suspicious glare.

Either he was more renowned as a member of the Inquisition than he initially pegged himself, or someone was lying to him.

Leliana, who had foregone her typical modicum of dress, and let her red hair fall freely about her shoulders, surveyed the room with interest, a light, pleasing smirk curling her lips. She had missed this so. The thrill of political intrigue, the danger, the ambiguity, the passion behind closed doors. The Game was certain to be played masterfully that night, and so she gazed contentedly at the occupants with practiced ease, cool blue eyes soaking in the hazy glow.

Beside her, Cullen fought greatly to resist the urge to tug once more at his collar. Never before had he been so intimidated by such richness, such decadence. It was leagues apart from any place he'd visited in Orlais yet so far, and never before had he felt so small, yet so significant, in one fell swoop. It was overwhelming to his senses, the way the crystal chandeliers that hung from above glittered with golden light, and everything sparkled like diamonds.

In contrast, Dorian looked bored. In truth, he was, as they loitered in the vestibule, waiting to be announced. He found the architecture of the palace to be somewhat pleasing, however the gaudy decoration was extremely jarring in comparison to the soft, delicate lines of elven influence. He had taken note of the courtyard outside, which delighted in its simplistic and overly minimalist attitude, and was then met with a bold display that sullied it.

He folded both arms over his chest and tweaked his mustache with a thumb and forefinger in contemplation as he surveyed the room, not failing to miss how uncomfortable Cullen looked. This was simply not to the Commander's tastes of course, being such a simple man. And at the moment, Dorian himself rather missed the simplicity of Skyhold as well. Missed the quaintness of Ferelden decor. But mostly missed his quarters, warmed by Cullen's presence.

Eventually the doors were opened, and they were led into the grandiose foyer before them. One by one they were announced at the top of the steps to the droves of people in attendance, and to the Empress herself, who greeted them suavely. The Altus found it comical when the herald attempted to rattle off Cassandra's lengthy string of middle names, to which she curtly interrupted, urging the man to 'get on with it', then marched down the steps.

He was also interested to learn Cullen's middle name was Stanton, a detail he'd not been made aware of previously. They made a show of parading down the isle preceding the ballroom, then they fanned out, mingling with the guests. Cullen and Dorian were separated for a time, as the Commander was led away to a corner by the Spymaster, introducing him to a former acquaintance. Dorian himself wandered the halls rather aimlessly.

He knew already he would likely be the male equivalent of a wall flower this evening, so he found the nearest buffet and lingered there for a time. Everyone stared of course, the guests in attendance being well aware of who he was, and so they eyed him curiously no matter where he went. Though a thing of which Dorian had grown accustomed to there in the south. He chanced poking at some dishes with a fork, but immediately regretted it, of course.

The ham tasted something akin to the smell of the sludge left behind by despair demons. A thing of which Dorian was all too familiar with since he was well acquainted with Skyhold's creature researcher. But thankfully the champagne washed the horrific taste out of his mouth and he focused solely on the desserts after that. There were a number of sugary confectionaries, and tray upon tray of flaky little pastries to sample.

Insofar the night went according to plan. All their agents were in place, entertaining the guests of tonight's event with their colorful personalities. At some point, a swarm of masked women, and even some men, gathered around Varric, eager to know if he were indeed the very same Varric Tethras that wrote Swords & Shields, some even asking for his autograph. "Hey, Sparkler," he mumbled when Dorian found him. "Remind me to shoot my editor."

"Whatever for?"

"Because they're a lying thief," he hissed with a scowl. Dorian quirked a brow at that.

Then he gazed across the upper echelon to see the Seeker red faced in anger as a masked noble said something to her that she obviously found displeasing. A minute more with the man and Dorian would stake his life on the noble being decked. "Uh-oh," he sang. "Your fair Seeker is in need of being rescued, me thinks," he told Varric, who scrunched his face up at that, in a mixture of confusion and disbelief. But then he looked across the room and cursed.

"Shit, I'll be back," he said, and rushed off to intervene, leaving the mage to smirk, amused by the instance. If only he could lock the Seeker and the storyteller in a broom closet somewhere. Give it an hour, and he was quite certain both would be in better spirits by the end of the night. He turned away from the sight of Varric valiantly coming to Cassandra's rescue and scanned the room for his Beloved, wherever he may be.

Varric cursed the whole way across the room, edging toward Cassandra, who's eyes widened when the masked noble that was accosting her dared to slip his arm around her waist. If she had a sword in her hand, Varric was certain the man would've been stabbed long before now, but thankfully her sword was tucked away in the servants' wing, with the rest of their gear. He saw her hand ball tightly into a fist, draw back a few inches, and panicked.

"Cassandra, _darling_ , there you are!" he greeted with a smile, sliding up next to her, and she glanced down, relaxing her fist. Beside her, the noble–assuming Varric was her lover–backed away from her, appropriating his distance. "I have been looking for you _everywhere_ ," Varric told her, faking utmost relief. His gaze moved from her confused stare to the face of the masked gentleman beside her. "I don't believe we've met," he said, offering his hand.

If he could see this guy's face, he'd no doubt see the look of disgust, at the mere thought of touching a lowly dwarf. He tipped his head a little, turning his nose up at him, and winced. Varric withdrew his hand, only slightly offended. Making this guy uncomfortable was a bit more satisfying, at the moment. "I beg your pardon, my lady," the noble said, turning to the Seeker. "I was not aware that you had a lover. Do forgive me for my behavior."

He bowed politely and sauntered off, leaving Varric and Cassandra to share a glance, before the Seeker deflated in a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing and tension melting from her frame.

"Thank you," she said. "A minute more with that man and I would've tossed him over the railing."

"Yeah, I could see that," he chuckled a little. "Frankly, I was a little jealous. If anyone should have the honor of being punched by Seeker Pentaghast, it should be _me_."

That got the Seeker to laugh, shaking her head a little at him. He liked this side of Cassandra; the light hearted, smiling version. She was pretty when she smiled. For a human, anyway.

A crazy thought occured to him, and he dared to ask, "Would you like to dance, Seeker?"

Cassandra blinked in surprise. Then she thought it over. "I...would like that, yes," she answered, and took his hand when he offered it. Without hesitation.

As he led her across the hall and downstairs to the dance floor, he spotted Dorian across the vestibule. He rolled his eyes a little when he saw the mage winking at him.

Dorian had watched the exchange–having not seen Cullen anywhere–then was dragged away shortly after to meet Josephine's sister who was in attendance. Her baby sister, who was all too enamoured with Dorian, and overly flirtatious. But she was absolutely darling, possessing that same effervescent charm that her elder sibling had. She giggled and cooed, asking Dorian question after question before he'd managed to politely excuse himself from their company.

Then he searched the room once more for that familiar golden head.

Hopelessly pining for so much as a glimpse of it.

But soon enough, he came into view, and Dorian dared to venture closer to the corner where Cullen perched himself, surveying the scene.

Looking devilishly handsome in the candlelight.

Leliana had slunk away to do some investigating of her own of the palace proper, finally leaving Cullen to his own devices, but completely defenseless against the amorous Orlesian nobility that swarmed shortly thereafter, and fawned over the warrior. Dorian sneered at the sight of them. Would very much like to light them on fire, burn those frilly monstrosities to a crisp, then stomp on them repeatedly at the way they ogled his Beloved.

Or, better yet, simply walk right up to Cullen and sweep him into a passionate kiss, for all the guests to see.

Shout it to the world that Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Lion of Ferelden, Commander of the Inquisition, was his and his alone.

Now that would surely leave tongues wagging, wouldn't it?

He did neither of those things, as he spotted Ellana entering the ballroom and finding Cullen. He then watched as she approached him, amid his desperate attempt to politely decline the nobles' advances. He dared to venture closer, eavesdropping on conversation, seeing Cullen's barely contained frustration in light of it. One gentleman in particular was standing awfully close, and Dorian seethed when the man attempted to fondle him.

Then became even more annoyed when he saw Ellana's amusement. She found the whole thing comical.

The Inquisitor herself was taking a much needed break from all the mingling and eavesdropping she'd been doing. It was the most boring evening for her insofar. Not a single person had anything of note to say, though she'd caught a few elven servants huddling and whispering to one another in various places. She had a feeling that whatever was going to happen, the servants knew something about it, and were her only solid lead.

So she'd done a little bit more digging when she came across a strange woman dressed in rich bergundy, named Morrigan. She didn't trust this mage as far as she could throw her, but she'd handed her a key. She was also investigating strange goings on at the palace, in the interest of protecting Celene, and found a dead Tevinter agent with that key. Said it was a key to the servants' quarters, and thought perhaps they might both be looking for the same person.

Ellana pocketed the key and planned to look for Leliana, discuss this finding with their Spymaster, but once spotting Cullen across the room, she changed her mind. He looked so handsome that night, and her heart pounded at the sight of him. Filling out that uniform so deliciously, hair slicked away from his face. Surrounded by noble women, all fluttering about the Commander, and a surge of jealousy coursed through Ellana's veins.

She approached him just as a noble pinched his backside and giggled. Cullen gasped at the offense. He just looked so helpless that Ellana couldn't help but laugh. Parties such as this really weren't to Cullen's liking, obviously. His cheeks were the color of embrium, and she dared to venture closer. "Smile, Commander!" pleaded one of the nobles. "You are so handsome when you smile!" True, he was rakish when he smiled.

But he brooded, folding his arms, scowling at them.

"Yet, just as handsome when he doesn't," said another noble. A third slipped in beside him and reached for him with her hand, making him jerk away from the touch.

"Did you just grab my bottom?" he asked her, disbelievingly and she giggled.

"I couldn't help myself," she shrugged. "How about a dance?"

"Uh, no thank you."

"So tell us, are you married, Commander?" the man asked, at the same time Cullen spotted Ellana nearby, eavesdropping.

"Not yet," he answered, rubbing his neck. "But I _am_ already taken," he told the nobles.

Ellana's heart lept right to her throat. Did that mean what she thought it meant? That Cullen was still claiming to have a lover, rebuffing all their attempts to flirt with him, did it mean he was carrying a torch for her still? Did he have feelings for her? Creators, she hoped so. She'd given it much thought, and had made up her mind that she simply had to be with Cullen. Despite all his faults, she would not rest until she had him in her arms again.

The nobles parted when the Inquisitor approached.

"Inquisitor," Cullen greeted, when she sidled up to him.

"Commander," she grinned. "You seem to be quite popular," she told him, and he sighed.

"Unfortunately, yes," he said.

"How about a dance?" she requested, batting her eyelashes.

"Uh," Once more he rubbed his neck, "Maybe later."

"I'll hold you to it," she winked, then left him there. She'd dallied long enough and needed to find Leliana. She'd spend more time with him later.

Nearby Dorian watched her exit, and saw that as soon as she was gone the nobles swarmed Cullen once more, edging even closer to pesture him with endless questions, most of them now involving the Inquisitor, having seen her in his company. He looked like another minute with these people would kill him. It seemed that much like the fair Seeker, Cullen was also in need of rescuing. Dorian peeled his eyes from the nearest painting and approached.

He loudly ahemed, saying, "Commander," in a stern businesslike tone of voice, and Cullen's eyes snapped to his. "If I may borrow a moment of your time?" He glanced at the nobles. "Very important Inquisition business to discuss, I'm afraid. Do excuse us."

He led Cullen down the hall and once out of earshot Cullen murmered, "It wasn't actually important, was it?"

"No, darling, but you looked like you needed the excuse."

"I did, yes. Thank you."

"A pity I can't distract you for long, but we'll at least find another corner for you to loiter in, yes?"

Cullen nodded. "Yes, perhaps one very far away."

Dorian chuckled a little. They strolled side by side across the vestibule and Cullen worried his lip as they meandered. He looked bothered still, though Dorian was clueless as to why.

"Are you alright, my dear?" he whispered to Cullen, who shrugged noncommittally.

"I'll be better when we leave this place," he mumbled. "When we've delt with matters, and can return to Skyhold."

Dorian smirked. "I miss it too," he told him, to which Cullen lifted a brow.

"And here I thought you'd be quite at home in places like this."

"Here? Maker, no," Dorian chuckled. "Familiar? Perhaps. In a place like this I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd and critisize my manners."

"Have you noticed anything odd yet?"

Dorian shook his head. "Other than the overabundance of lavander perfume? No. Nothing extraordinary."

Cullen cocked his head in confusion. "I thought you _liked_ lavender."

"On you, I most certainly do. But everything in moderation of course, and here it's like someone brought in a stable and doused it in perfume. It's utterly revolting. Do people here not bathe? What do they do, stew in their own juices and simply spritz cologne on their sweaty pits?"

Cullen grimaced at the notion. "Now that is disgusting."

"I couldn't agree more."

"So is this how the elite of Tevinter carry on?" Cullen asked, gesturing to the crowds of people scattered about, and Dorian arched a brow.

"You could almost mistake this for a soirée in the Imperium," he said. "The same double dealing, elegant poison, canapés... it's lacking only a few sacrificial slaves and some blood magic... But the night _is_ still young."

Cullen rolled his eyes at his quip that was only half sarcasm. "You like it then?" he asked.

"What, all the fake smiles, empty compliments and back stabbing? The sneers and the turned up noses? Why I love it," he said, and his beloved chuckled.

"You like the attention," he told him, and Dorian smiled.

"Parts of it have their merits you know...Like the music...and the dancing." He spied Cullen's worrisome expression at the mention of dancing. "By the way, don't try the ham, darling, it tastes of despair," he advised humorlessly, to which Cullen snorted.

"And how does one learn what despair tastes like, exactly?" he asked.

"One simply eats the ham," Dorian replied, to which Cullen laughed.

They were only able to linger for a moment still before they were interrupted. Lady Josephine came gliding to them, weaving her way through the droves of people to say, "My apologies for the interruption, gentlemen." She turned to speak directly to Dorian then. "You must meet the Inquisitor and her companions near the servants' quarters," she instructed, then she turned to Cullen. "Come, Commander, you simply _must_ meet my sister, Yvette."

Cullen and Dorian shared a glance.

If Dorian was to meet Ellana and the others, it meant there might be trouble ahead of them.

Well, this night just finally got a little interesting, now didn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue for this was actually taken from the game, but I made some minor tweaks to it of course. Hope I did a good. 
> 
> *Sweats*
> 
> Stay tuned for part two, coming soon!


	32. A Grand Affair-Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all secrets at the Winter Palace belong to players of the Game...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this took so long, guys. But here is part two of Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts. Made some changes to make it more interesting, because otherwise, what would be the point of writing it? So I hope you like it, and thank you for you patience.

“Yuck!” Ellana scoffed, staring down at all the blood staining her uniform.

A blessing it was mostly red, but no doubt attendees of the ball would take notice of all the dark splotches on her sash. She glanced at Dorian, who was brushing his uniform with gloved hands, but as he did, peppering his clothing with sparkling magic. A glamour spell to clean up the blood and muck staining them from the fight they encountered. He cleaned Varric and Cassandra next, then waited patiently for Ellana to approach. Albeit reluctantly, she did so.

The plot had once more thickened, and not only had they encountered a fight, but a horde of Venatori agents scoping out the servants’ wing. Dead elven servants, and one emissary stabbed in the heart by a blade marked with the Chalons family crest. Also a persnickety elven Ambassador, Briala, made their acquaintance when the fighting was over. She claimed to have happened upon the wing looking for her elven entourage.

But who could tell what was what in this place really. But she immediately blamed Gaspard for the affair. Offered an alliance with the Inquisition if they were interested. It was certainly a generous offer, to have an army of elven spies at their disposal. Regardless of her intentions, Ellana and her companions could all see that more was going on behind closed doors than any of them prepared for. Ellana pondered all this as Dorian flicked his magic wrist.

“It just seems too easy,” she commented, after further consideration. “That Gaspard should be behind it?”

“I agree,” said Dorian, to her surprise–truly, when did they ever agree on anything?–whisking away those pesky blood stains with his magic. “Surely he would not be as careless as to leave evidence behind. It would make him undoubtedly guilty in the eyes of the Imperial Court, yes? Most likely someone is trying to frame him for the deed. My money would be on Briala. But would she really be that heartless as to slay her own people to accomplish this?”

“Good question, Sparkler. But try this on for size: What if Gaspard _wanted_ to be framed?”

“What do you mean, Varric?” Cassandra asked, confused.

“I’m saying what if he _did_ do it, but left evidence behind to make it _appear_ as if someone was trying to frame him, pitting the blame on Briala and her people?”

“Hmm,” Ellana hummed. “He did seem pretty eager to point the finger at Briala to be the one to disrupt proceedings right from the start. What better way to guarantee someone disrupts the peace talks than to frame them for such a thing?”

“Only a fool would think Briala guilty of murdering her own people,” Cassandra huffed.

“I think there’s more to this plot we’ve yet to piece together,” Dorian commented. “And let’s not forget the Venatori’s involvement in all this.”

“Right, so, what do we do then?” Varric asked, and Ellana thought about it for a moment.

“Well, I should head back to the ballroom. No doubt people are wondering where I am. I don’t want to confront Gaspard just yet. At least until we have more information. If we can find out how the Venatori got in, we might find out who sent them. The three of you should head back to the party before people grow suspicious.”

Dorian, Varric and the Seeker nodded. “I’ll inform Leliana of this mess,” Cassandra added, gesturing to the bodies still lying around. “She’ll see that her people properly dispose of the corpses. It would be wise to hold on to that dagger, Inquisitor, rather than let key evidence fall into the wrong hands.” Ellana nodded, and bent to tuck the Chalons embossed dagger into her leather boot. At that, the four of them left the courtyard they’d found themselves in.

“Is there _anyone_ in Orlais who is not corrupt?” Cassandra wondered aloud, to which Dorian snorted.

“So much conniving and backstabbing here,” he commented. “Almost makes me homesick.”

Meanwhile, back at the party, Cullen was growing restless. He and the other advisers stepped away to the vestibule to meet with Ellana and discuss the situation at hand. When Cassandra reported back to inform them there were slain elven servants and dead Venatori agents, his concerns only grew. He took a sip from the wine glass Leliana had handed him to keep him calm and drummed his fingers on the nearest table.

“Surely Briala would not be so cold as to murder her own agents for personal gain,” he remarked, after hearing what Cassandra had to say.

“You wouldn’t think,” Leliana murmured behind her own glass of red wine, swishing it around in its crystal chalice. “But desperate times may call for desperate measures, and if her servants were willing enough to be martyrs for a good cause, the freedom of the elven people of Orlais…She has the most to gain from Celene’s death, but not if Gaspard would take her place. It makes sense she would orchestrate events to remove them both from Game tonight.”

And what better way to ensure her _own_ survival than to appeal to the Dalish Inquisitor.

Josephine and Leliana continued on to comment about the nobles in attendance at the party when they noticed other guests entering the vestibule. “…Did you hear? Lord Abernache is having another scandalous affair.”

“I had heard, yes. But I didn’t believe it to be true.”

“The man should know better than to air out his dirty laundry for everyone to see.”

That would work to keep people whispering about what they’d overheard, and attention away from their investigation, hopefully. Cullen himself thought it was petty, to spread rumors and lies they could neither confirm nor deny the truth of, and stir up more trouble in the pot, but unfortunately, he was well aware of how much attention had been placed on the Inquisition tonight. Better they think they were conspiring to gossip, than the alternative.

He would rather be anywhere but here. Preferably, with a certain mage from Tevinter he’d grown so fond of. He’d almost let it slip to Josephine’s sister earlier in the eve that they were together, when he couldn’t take much more of her flirtations, but luckily Josephine, who was well aware of their relationship, found a gentle way of diffusing her sister’s infatuation with Cullen. And Dorian as well.

“What is keeping the Inquisitor? She should’ve been here by now.”

“I can’t imagine, but hopefully she won’t be too much longer. People might begin to suspect what we’re up to.”

“We should see what’s keeping her.”

They exited the vestibule to find Ellana in the middle of the dance floor, arm in arm with none other than the Duchess Florianne de Chalons. Gaspard’s sister. As they were dancing, they could see their lips were moving, sharing conversation, but there was no way to tell what the conversation was about at this distance. It was startling though, the crowd’s reaction to two women dancing. They…seemed to like it actually.

Cullen leaned his head curiously at the sight, confused by it. “I had thought people would frown upon such a thing,” he commented, and both Leliana and Josephine chuckled.

The Ambassador especially had a peculiar gleam in her eye before speaking.

“You would be surprised at the number of people in Orlais involved in same sex affairs,” she told him, and his brows raised at the statement. “It is not common knowledge of course, but behind closed doors there are many that prefer such company.” _Hmm, rather like Tevinter, is it?_ he thought. “Marriage between two of the same gender is legal in Orlais, though not commonly practiced, given the inability to have children, and produce heirs.”

“I never knew that,” he said, fascinated by the information. Both the women in his company chuckled. They could guess at where Cullen’s thoughts had ventured. To a certain raven haired mage standing across the ballroom, in conversation with Varric. He’d never given the subject of marriage much consideration before, not even marriage to a woman. It just seemed impractical really, given the importance of his work, but now…

“It is still scandalous though,” Leliana added to the conversation. “Mostly where it concerns infidelity. A husband having an affair with another man, for example.”

“Orlesians with morals,” he grumbled sarcastically. “There’s a revolutionary thought.”

Both women snickered.

“But there are those that still cling fiercely to tradition,” said Josephine. “Other opinions may vary based purely upon what’s popular and fashionable. They change with every season.”

About that time, Ellana was bowing politely to her dance partner, then making her way up the stairs to meet with them. She looked uncomfortable for some reason. Perhaps it was simply to have been subjected to such public scrutiny. After relaying her conversation with Florianne, and the events that occurred in the servants’ wing, Briala’s offer of an alliance, should the Inquisition find favor in it, they debated upon how to approach the situation.

The Duchess seemed a little too eager to admonish her brother, and a little too knowledgeable to be innocent in all this. Her warning that an assassin would strike soon was alarming enough, without everything else. The dagger embossed with the Chalons family crest could very well belong to her, but she indicated the answer lie with Gaspard’s captain who was in attendance, and stole away to one of the suites in the royal wing.

At this point, warning Celene of the danger would be fruitless. Abandoning the negotiations in favor of fleeing would be to admit defeat, Josephine informed them. The only move to make now was to discover the true identity of the assassin before they’d strike. Which almost seemed impossible. But it was the only option they had. Until Leliana spoke up with, “Then perhaps we should let her die.” Ellana’s eyes widened a touch.

“You can’t honestly suggest that can you?”

“It would be a sure fire way of learning the assassin’s identity,” Cullen mused, shooting Leliana a curious glance.

“Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor,” Leliana said, edging closer. “What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the Empire must remain strong. This evening, _someone_ must emerge victorious.”

“And it doesn’t need to be Celene,” Cullen thought aloud. Then, after further consideration, he met Ellana’s gaze. “She’s right,” he said. He couldn’t rightly say what the Inquisitor was thinking just then, but she’d already judged him a hundred times over with her eyes, on countless occasions. Some moments of the day she judged them all purely for being _human_. He refused to allow her judgemental stare to get under his skin now.

“Do you realize what you’re suggesting Leliana?” Josephine asked, with an air of shock and appall.

“Sometimes, the best path is not the easiest one,” she said, bitterly, sparing Cullen the briefest of glances, but it spoke volumes.

He didn’t need to be a master of the Grand Game to detect where Leliana’s thoughts had went just then. They knew so little of one another personally, not much beyond what anyone could learn, and neither wished to vocalize their time in Ferelden during the Fifth Blight, but from what Cullen had seen in the months of working with her, they were probably more alike than either would readily admit. And she didn’t need to elaborate for him to understand.

But in the meantime, Ellana chewed her lip, conflicted by the Spymaster’s suggestion that they let Celene fall. “The Inquisition is suppose to protect the interests of Orlais,” she spoke aloud, finally. “We are a military force bent on protecting people, not letting them die. And they’re suppose to be our allies. We came here tonight to save Celene.” Much as she hated that. “Not simply stand back and watch her die.”

“Being loyal to the Empire doesn’t necessarily mean loyal to the Empress,” Cullen spoke, carefully, after some consideration. “After Celene’s killer is brought to justice, we could then set our sights on allying with those who take her place. Either Gaspard, or Briala, but either way, we would secure a substantial force, and an advantageous position here in Orlais.” But even as he spoke, he too wondered of the value of his words.

“That… is true,” Josephine conceded beside him. “Loyalty to the Empire means pledging allegiance to those with rightful claim to the throne. And an alliance with Gaspard could put us in a most advantageous position with possession of his soldiers.”

“Hmm, Gaspard does have rightful claim to the throne,” Ellana mumbled, thinking it over. But after a moment, she sighed. “No. No, we can’t. Corypheus wants Celene dead. Period. That’s the whole of it. Regardless of why, I’m not about to stand back in give the bastard exactly what he wants. Not after Haven.”

Cullen’s mouth set in a grim line after those words, and he turned to the other advisers. “You know, when putting it like that… she makes a good point.” Both Leliana and Josephine sighed. “By your order, Inquisitor.”

“Well,” Leliana huffed, “We only have about an hour before Celene will be making an announcement. If her assailant means to strike, most likely it will be then.”

“Then I’ll use that hour to look into Gaspard’s captain, see what we can learn from him,” the Inquisitor nodded. She turned to Josephine. “You yourself said the Inquisition my prevail tonight simply by the our cunning play of the Game. So let’s get to playing it then.”

“Of course, Your Worship.”

“Be certain you return when the bell strikes the hour, Inquisitor. You will be expected to be present in the ballroom for the announcement.”

Ellana nodded, and left the alcove, headed back into the fray.

The advisers deflated in a sigh.

“Well, now we know where Ellana stands on the subject,” Leliana remarked.

Both Cullen and Josephine turned to the Spymaster quizzically at that statement, laced with an underlying current of ulterior motive.

“Don’t tell us you only made the suggestion just to glean insight into Ellana’s character,” Cullen said, and she smirked.

“Would be easy to say, but no. I’m afraid I didn’t. Though I agree with the Inquisitor. Regardless of the outcome of this evening, we only know Coypheus’ end goal is the death of the Empress. His agents are here to tonight to ensure that victory. We mustn’t let them. It was Ellana’s decision to make. We can only hope it was the right decision.”

“Let us return to the ballroom,” Josephine suggested. “We have an hour to occupy the Court’s attentions before the evening comes to a close.”

“How do we plan on doing that, exactly?” Cullen dared to ask, but regretted it.

“Why, dancing, Commander,” she chirped, smiling, and he groaned.

“You two go on ahead. I’ll make my way to the gardens.”

“Fancy meeting a certain Altus on the terrace?” Leliana smirked, suggestively, and he sighed.

“I just might,” he said in parting, soon scanning the ballroom once he entered, for a glimpse of feathery black hair.

While Josephine and Leliana made their way downstairs to the polished marble floor, as the musicians struck up in another tune, Cullen weaved his way through masked crowds, in search of Dorian. They had an hour to mingle before tonight’s most eventful form of entertainment would begin, and hopefully end, with Celene’s assassin in chains. He navigated the palace garden, searching for the mage, but it was Dorian that found him first.

“There you are,” Dorian purred, when he saw the Commander wandering the path. The mage’s heart threatened to leap right out of his chest when Cullen turned and smiled at his approach. “Fancy that we keep running into one another like this,” he quipped. “I’m starting to wonder if there’s a pattern here.” Cullen’s eyes danced with amusement. “Care for another glass of wine, Commander?” he asked, gesturing to one of the attendants, serving drinks.

“Thank you,” he said, when he lifted to glasses from the tray as it passed them and handed one to Cullen. “I don’t suppose we could afford to slip away for a while,” he commented, glancing around the enclosure.

“No, I suppose not,” Dorian agreed, equally disheartened.

As he turned to eye the trellises, draped with thick dark vines, a flash of red caught his attention, and he did a double take. “Uh-oh,” he mumbled, when he recognized that fiery red head. One that did _not_ belong to their Spymaster. “Don’t look now, but our dear old friend, the lascivious and obscene Renée Antoinette de Chevin approaches.” Cullen followed his gaze and inhaled sharply at the sight of the middle aged redhead in an all too familiar mask.

Belonging to the Comtesse of Val Chevin.

“Oh no,” he groaned. “Not her. Not here, not tonight!”

“Now now, darling, calm down, she hasn’t spotted us yet.”

 _Yet_ , he said.

But as if the Maker was feeling particularly humorous that night, she turned not seconds after they said that. Quickly they whipped around and pretended to be so enthralled by the nearest statue, chiseled from pure white marble. Some fourth of fifth cousin of the Empress, most likely. With the most atrocious mole on their neck. Cullen’s heart pounded in his chest at the thought of once more being cornered by the equally atrocious woman entering the garden.

He chanced looking behind him, only to see the Comtesse headed for them. “Shit, she’s coming right for us,” he hissed. “What do we do now?”

Dorian tapped his chin for a moment. “Alright, we just calmly…walk this way…” They started moving to the farther end of the garden. He glanced back to see she’d picked up pace in her excitement. “Kaffas!” he cursed. Then, in his panic, he blurted, “Run!”

They tore off down the path and scrambled to the nearest exit, leading to the adjacent wing of the estate. Halfway through their mad sprint, Cullen burst with laughter, Dorian soon following suit. It was utterly ridiculous, the way they ran from the woman like two school boys having been caught philandering by the headmaster. Dorian wondered if that weren’t precisely what they’d be doing, were they rambunctious teenagers still. Down the empty hall they bolted, laughing.

Their escape route eventually led to an unoccupied balcony, through which they turned and firmly shut the door behind them, backs to the door, breathing raggedly. They shared a look, and once more burst into a fit of laughter.

“You don’t think she’ll look for us here, do you suppose?” Dorian asked, and Cullen sighed.

“Maker’s breath, I hope not,” he said.

“And here I thought the night would be so boring.”

“You consider fighting Venatori agents and hunting an assassin boring?” Cullen asked, and Dorian shrugged.

“It almost makes me miss home, actually,” he said, to which the Commander shook his head at the man. “You’re middle name is _Stanton_?” he then asked, to which Cullen groaned, moving to lean against the railing.

“I just knew you’d bring that up. It was my grandfather’s name. My father’s father. So if you have any jokes, keep them to yourself please.”

“Well, you’re no fun.”

“Yet here we are.” Cullen gestured to the balcony, and the mage smirked.

“Looks like we’re finally alone, Amatus,” Dorian observed then, his voice taking on a more suggestive timbre.

“Indeed we are, dearest.”

He followed Cullen to the railing, placing both hands upon it beside him, getting a good view of the castle and its inhabitants from this tower. They looked so small down there, none of them even bothering to look upward to see the beautiful night sky overhead. Too concerned with their petty problems down on earth. For a moment, the more wistful part of Dorian usually kept buried came out, as he stood beside Cullen and admired the view. Below them, music wafted upward from the window.

“Care for a dance, darling?” he asked, holding out his hand in invitation.

Only then did Cullen grow hesitant, and shy, much like he used to in the beginning days of their friendship. Instinctively his hand shot up to the back of his neck in angst. “Uhm, Dorian, I…” He took a deep breath and let it out in a dejected sigh, lowering his gaze. “I-I don’t dance.”

“You don’t?” Dorian questioned. “Or…you won’t.”

“More like…I can’t. I’ve never…”

The mage’s eyes widened in surprise. “You never learned?”

Cullen shook his head, thinking back on the last time–the only time–he’d ever danced in his life. He was eleven years old, and a neighboring farm at Honnleath hosted a barn dance on that summer solstice. There was a girl, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, that asked Cullen to dance. But he had no idea how, it was so excruciatingly awkward between them, and he stepped on her toes. And in his adult years, he’d been a Templar. Not much use in dancing, serving in the Circle.

He shrank with embarrassment now, face reddening. It was a silly thing to be self conscious about but… But Dorian liked to dance. And he wanted to dance with Cullen.

“I was a Templar,” he mumbled. “We aren’t instructed to dance. We’re instructed to guard mages. What practicality is there in dancing.”

Dorian stepped closer, lacing his fingers with Cullen’s as he stared up at him, in part amazement, and part sympathy. Oh this explained so much. “It’s not meant to be practical, darling, it’s meant to be fun. I would’ve thought with all of Josephine’s preparations for tonight, she would’ve included dance lessons somewhere in your schedule.”

“She didn’t think it necessary, since I’m only meant to keep a watchful eye on proceedings.”

“And she never suspected you didn’t know how, I’m guessing?”

“I…I could try,” he said. “For you, I would.” Dorian smiled a little at that. “But I’d only step on your toes. I’m afraid it wouldn’t be a very pleasant experience.”

“Nonsense,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll teach you.”

“Teach…teach me to dance?” Cullen asked, disbelievingly.

“Of course. It’s not as hard as you think, Amatus.” He smiled at Cullen, hoping to ease his worries, and his anxiety. “It’s just as easy as wielding a blade.” Cullen eyed him skeptically then, as if those two concepts were entirely foreign in relation to one another, when in truth, they were more similar than he realized. “Dancing is much like combat, Cullen. Only you don’t have an opponent, and you’re not intent on killing your partner.”

The Commander snorted at that.

But he gazed at Dorian thoughtfully for a moment. He’d always assumed he’d get nothing but ridicule from the mage should he learn Cullen couldn’t dance. Instead, he’d offered to teach. But of course, he couldn’t see just how endearing the Altus thought the whole thing was. In a fight, he might be a formidable opponent, but when it came to dancing, the Commander had two left feet. Dorian found the whole thing entirely too precious.

“When you lunge forward to attack your opponent, what do you do?” he asked, and after thinking about it, Cullen took a step forward. “Precisely. And to avoid an opponent’s strike, what then?”

“Well, I’d block it with a shield, of course.”

“And if you didn’t have a shield?”

Ah, now Cullen understood. He took a step back, like he would to avoid his enemies’ strike. Just like combat, dancing was a series of carefully coordinated steps, only the goal was not to parry, but rather to lead a partner in song. Dorian spent another minute showing him the steps, then came closer, putting Cullen’s arm around his waist, held his other hand, and waited for the music to pick up again. “I’ll lead, Commander,” he said, and slowly they began their waltz.

It wasn’t so bad. Not as bad as they thought it would be. He only stepped on Dorian’s foot once, making him wince, but after that he did surprisingly well. He had a good sense of rhythm, but he kept staring down at their feet, hoping to avoid Dorian’s toes. He tilted his chin up, saying, “Eyes on your opponent, Commander,” making him chuckle. But indeed, his eyes were on Dorian after that. “You’re doing splendid, Amatus,” he praised, and though Cullen doubted as much, it felt good to hear.

When the song ended, and the dance concluded, he found himself still unable to take his eyes off Dorian. He was the best thing to ever happen to Cullen, and he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d gotten so lucky. He ended up voicing that thought aloud. “How did I get so lucky,” he said, and to his amazement, Dorian actually blushed, despite his dark complexion. He bit his lip, which caused the Commander to pull him in for a kiss. Soft and sweet at first, but eventually it grew more heated.

He found himself being nudged backward and pressed against the railing.

It was at that moment, with Dorian pressed against him in passionate kiss, that the door swung open, interrupting them.

Inquisitor Lavellan stood and stared at the two men in shock and horror.

“Inquisitor, I…”

Cullen didn’t get the chance to finish, for Ellana was already tearing herself away from the scene, darting back down the hall from whence she came. Once Dorian realized who had stumbled upon them, his blood ran cold. Ellana had seen the two of them together. This would only end in disaster. “Vishante kaffas,” he cursed. Then he pulled away from Cullen, who had stubbornly clutched him tighter when he saw Ellana. As if he would shield him from her wrath somehow.

His heart leapt at that, how even then, Cullen hadn’t pushed him away, but fear won over any other emotion once realizing what this could mean for them. She would tell everyone. Then she would do everything in her power to keep them apart. “We have to go after her,” he said, pulling away, but Cullen clung to him still.

“No, let her go, Dorian.”

“She’ll tell everyone!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?!” he raged, pulse racing, and he balled both hands tightly into fists. “Don’t you understand, Cullen? She’s going to ruin everything! She’ll do everything she can to keep us apart-”

“Dorian,” Cullen interrupted, spinning him around to face him, cupping his shoulders. “Dorian, look at me. The whole of Corypheus’ armies could not keep me from you!” he said fiercely. “She would’ve found out eventually. This was bound to happen sooner or later. Maybe this is for the best.”

“How can you even suggest this is a good thing?!”

“Because I am tired tiptoeing around her,” he said. Dorian sighed at that. “I will not lose you, Dorian. I don’t care what Ellana thinks. Not when it comes to you. She cannot keep me from you.”

As angered as he was by the Inquisitor, and as fearful as he was of this ending in disaster, something in him stilled when he looked into Cullen’s eyes, and heard those words. Cullen was right, this was bound to happen eventually. Perhaps it was a matter best resolved another night. They did still have an Empire to save, after all. With another sigh, he let his forehead drop to Cullen’s shoulder, and let the warrior hold him, soothing him. Hoping and praying this wasn’t all for naught.

Down the hall, Ellana had stopped just around the corner and leaned against a wall. After all the stress of the evening, seeing Dorian and Cullen kissing was the last straw to make her turn and vomit in the nearest potted plant. It was disgusting, what she witnessed. She’d always known of Dorian’s preference for men, but at least he’d always had the decency of never letting her witness it firsthand. She shuddered in thought of it. Dancing with another woman she could tolerate, but this?!

It was revolting, to the Inquisitor. How could Cullen want that? How could it be that he chose Dorian over her?! Another man! It wasn’t natural! It was wrong! But then another thought crossed her mind just then, one to make her blood chill, and set her teeth to grinding. It was the only explanation to all this that made sense. Cullen didn’t want this at all. Dorian was forcing him. Controlling him somehow, and she had a guess as to that how.

...Dorian was a blood mage.


End file.
